Where Have I Gone?
by winter machine
Summary: Reeling from her parents' revelations during their visit to California, Addison somehow opens the door to a world that shouldn't exist at all – with no idea how she got there or how to get out. And no one else there seems to think it's strange. Is this what she's been missing? Parallel universe/AU Addek with a supernatural twist. See author's notes for more. *COMPLETE*
1. Through the Looking Glass

**A/N: Let's face it:** I am complete and total **Addek trash**. What else could compel me to start a new story when I have multiples to keep up with now? But this story started _screaming_ at me to write it and I couldn't not. Please see author notes at the end of this chapter. Oh, and if it's convenient, please play Ryan Star's gorgeous _Losing Your Memory_ before, after, or during. And then watch Rachael's brilliant vid of it on the site that rhymes with _blue noob. (Her name is pheobecolefan and the video is perfection.)_

This is different from anything else I've written. It's an alternate universe, but this time we're not the only ones who know just how alternate it is. And with all the Addek angst that I admittedly adore, I wanted to do something a little different. Check it out and see what you think - the first chapter is a short little mini-chapter to get us started and see what you think of the premise...

* * *

 **Where Have I Gone?**

 _Where have you gone?  
_ _The beach is so cold in winter here  
_ _And where have I gone?  
_ _I wake in Montauk with you near  
_ _Remember the day  
_ ' _Cause this is what dreams should always be  
_ _I just want to stay  
_ _I just want to keep this dream in me  
_ _You're losing your memory now…_

* * *

Her head is still buzzing as she drives home from the airfield. Her parents are gone. She watched their flight leave, just to make sure, and it left. Her parents are finally gone and her life can go back to normal.

Except that every revelation from their painful visit is still buzzing in her head.

 _Bizzy's wasn't the victim. She lied to me._

 _Susan was never on my side. She lied to me._

 _The Captain wasn't cheating. He lied to me. (And I lied for him. Is that even worse?)_

 _They all lied. They all let me lie._

 _Everything was a lie._

A whole life spent wrongly covering for her father and worrying about her mother. There was no need. They knew it was a game all along. It was a game, and Addison was nothing more than a pawn.

 _They all lied._

But what if they hadn't? She rests a hand on the steering wheel, wondering.

Would she still have grown up with that flexible moral compass, the one that helped her turn to Mark to numb her pain? Would she have known how to keep her life on track? Would she have been so afraid to start a family of her own? Would she be 42 –

(For one brief, almost amusing moment, she remembers that "42" was the answer to life, the universe, and everything in the Douglass Adams books she and Derek used to joke about in medical school. Doesn't seem like as much of a joke now that she's 42 and has no answers at all.)

\- 42 years old, and alone?

Because that's what she is.

Alone.

Completely, painfully alone.

She rests her hand on the sliding glass door handle, feeling like the only person in the universe.

Then again, what else is new? She's been alone since she got to California.

No, since she got to Seattle.

Okay, fine, since she lived in New York. Not forever, not at the beginning, not when … but for a while before Mark … alone.

 _Face it, Addie,_ she scolds herself, _you've been alone forever._

It's what she deserves, isn't it? And anyway, it's too late now.

 _It's about choices._

It's about choices … and all of hers have been wrong.

She draws deep breaths of clean ocean air. At least there's the beach to soothe her. At least there's a massive bathtub and a very expensive bottle of wine waiting for her to wash away the afternoon. That's something, at least.

She stands outside the glass door her beach house, and for just one moment she thinks ruefully of calling out _I'm home_ , except she lives alone and no one would hear her because no one is waiting for her.

Well, the bottle of wine. At least she still has that. Steeling herself against the solitude, she slides open the door...

...and blinks into confusing, relative darkness.

The door is open now, but there's no brilliant California sunshine, no sunny yellow welcome; she's ... somewhere else entirely, with electric lights and dark wood that smells like cooking.

And there are stairs.

Wait. Why are there stairs?

…Why are there stairs that she _recognizes_?

She looks around slowly, almost afraid, touching her hand to her forehead at the same time. She's hallucinating. That's what's happening. It must be.

Panicked, she looks behind her for the sliding glass door she opened to her beach house but the glass is gone. The beach is gone. All she sees is a heavy carved wood front door instead.

…and she recognizes that too.

Okay. She forces herself to breathe. This is just a dream. That's why it's the same but different, the pictures on the wall and the rugs and the furniture too. She had more to drink than she meant to, all week. It's been a difficult time, no one could blame her. It's just a dream. Maybe she fell asleep in her car - _oh god,_ hopefully in the parking lot and not on the 405, but it's okay, it's just a dream.

"Addison?"

...or maybe she's losing her mind after all.

Because standing in front of her wearing an oven mitt on his hand, and smiling – _smiling,_ at her! – is …

...let's just say she hasn't had this dream in a while.

And she may seriously need to cut down on the drinking.

Surreptitiously she pinches herself. Nothing happens.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

He's still walking toward her, looking at her with that soft expression she hasn't seen in anything but a memory in years.

Even as his name echoes in her head she can't say it out loud. Derek. _Derek._

He cocks his head slightly and it's that familiar gesture that almost undoes her.

"You okay, Addie?"

"I'm…" _I'm losing my mind._ How is she supposed to answer that? She offers a weak smile that she hopes will conceal the fact that she's shaking.

The only good news is that this can't possibly get any stranger.

Until she hears another voice calling out.

"Mommy's home!"

* * *

… _okay then. Want to come on this crazy parallel journey with Addison, and with me? Let me know. I'm a machine, but a machine that runs on feedback…_

 _Coming up: more WTF, and an unlikely spirit guide…_

 _This story owes a lot to, and inspiration has been drawn from, the brilliant The Road Not Taken by AriaAdagio. It's in my favorites list; it's MerDer, and it's freaking amazing. I highly recommend. So. Magical realism alternate universe Addek?_

PS Anonymous reviews bashing the pairing for no apparent reason will be printed out, shredded, and used as cat litter. :)


	2. Hiding in Plain Sight

**A/N: Thank you,** times a million, for the incredible response to the first chapter! I love all your reviews and hearing what you think as well as your predictions and what you're hoping to see. I'm excited for this story and I'm so happy that the Addek Revolution is here. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 _ **Hiding in Plain Sight**_

* * *

" _Mommy's home!"_

She has barely a second to process those words, to feel the way they lodge in her chest and steal her breath, before she's hit around the legs by something that feels like a missile.

But it's not a missile. It's a speedy and very accurately aiming and very small person.

"Nicky!" She can hear laughter in Derek's voice. "Mommy hasn't even taken her coat off yet, buddy. Let's give her a minute to breathe."

But Derek also sounds like he's far away because Addison is down on her haunches now, unable to stop looking at the little boy who charged her. When he grins at her, a lump rises in her throat. He has floppy brown curls, twinkling blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across a miniature version of her own nose. And then she can't see him anymore because he's in her arms, holding her around the neck. She hugs him back instinctually and breathes in a scent that should be unfamiliar: baby shampoo mixed with something clean and green like pine needles. But it doesn't feel unfamiliar. It feels exactly right.

 _How many times did I picture you? Dream about you?_

It feels like coming home.

 _Home._

She stands up slowly when the little boy releases her neck and smiles down at him. Her eyes fall on the potholder covering Derek's hand.

"You were cooking?" The question tumbles out before he can stop it.

"Of course I was cooking." Derek looks confused. "It's my night."

"I helped, too." The little boy – _Nicky, that's his name –_ is lounging against his father's legs now, smiling at her.

"You sure did, Nick." Derek is looking fondly at him as he ruffles his curly hair. "You are a great kitchen helper."

 _We have a son. Derek cooks and we have a son. And the son cooks too. I have definitely fallen through the looking glass._

Derek glances at her. "You want a drink, Addie?"

"No, thanks." She's going to need all her wits about her. She's going to need extra wits just for the way Derek is looking at her – not with indifference, not with annoyance. She can barely recognize him, except for the fact that she recognizes every inch of him.

How can everything be so different and so much the same, all at once?

Derek is reaching toward her and for a moment she freezes, but he's just easing her coat off her shoulders. She shrugs out of it, helping him, and notices it's not the lightweight purple trench she put on to drive to the airport; it's black wool with a fur-lined hood.

 _It's winter._

She watches Derek hang her coat on the tree in the foyer.

"You want to go get changed before we eat?"

She looks at Derek's face for a moment. His expression is so ... open, nothing guarding his eyes. His question is so _normal_ ; he doesn't seem to understand how strange this world is. He doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong.

"Sure. I'll, uh, I'll … go change," she says slowly, and she can't resist touching Nicky's curly hair one more time.

 _You're not real, I know you're not real, but how does that explain what I'm feeling when I-_

"Come back quick, Mommy," Nicky instructs.

Derek smiles at both of them. "He really missed you."

 _He missed me. I've been somewhere._ She decides she will address this confusing can't-be-real world like the scientist she is, gathering clues. She'll play along, at least for now, and try to figure out what's happening as she learns more.

"I missed him too," Addison says, deciding better of saying _I missed all of you,_ because what if it was Nicky who went somewhere, and not Addison? If only she could say _where have I been? Why did he miss me? Why have I missed everything that led up to this … family?_

"Hey – "

She looks at Derek.

"…where's my hello?"

"Your …" her voice trails off. "Oh."

She steps toward Derek nervously. She hasn't been this close to him, face to face, since Seattle. Since he saved her brother's life and then … but she doesn't want to think about what happened next. It seems so far away, Derek's cold anger in the OR, his loud voice, less real than the man standing in front of her now. His eyes are warm, his stance is open, and she covers the distance between them before anything suspicious registers on her face.

And then his lips are on hers. The kiss is soft, quick, but it seems to travel straight from her mouth through the rest of her body, warming everything down to the chilly tips of her fingers and toes.

Her eyes are still closed when he pulls away; he's grinning when she opens them.

"That's more like it," he says.

"Yeah." She can feel her chest rising and falling.

 _You still take my breath away._

She pauses as the thought flashes through her mind. Where did that come from?

"Addison?"

"Hm?"

Derek is pointing toward the other open archway. "You should go that way," he says, his eyes twinkling.

Addison is confused – well, okay, she's been confused since she opened the door – but she's happy to have any direction in this puzzling world.

"Okay." She smiles unsteadily. "So I'll, um, be right back."

She leaves through the archway Derek suggested, which leads her through the living room. She barely has time to take in the unfamiliar décor – an L-shaped couch, children's toys. At least the curtains are the same, the ones she picked out when –

She gasps, clutching a hand to her chest.

Something is looking back at her.

She looks away, gathering breath, then looks back.

But they're still there. There are _eyes_ in the drapes.

 _Oh my god, I really am going to stop drinking. I'm pouring all my wine down the drain. I can't deal with haunted drapes._

Slowly, she tilts her head, peering closer. Maybe she imagined it.

Nope, they're definitely eyes. Is it some kind of animal? A cat? Derek never liked cats. But a cat is still preferably to a … monster?

The eyes move a little bit and then a small, round, and very human face comes into view.

"Shh." A tiny finger rises in front of pursed lips.

Addison's heart is pounding. It's a little girl, with silky reddish-brown hair and the same blue eyes that were peering out of the drapes.

For a brief moment she wonders if this is _her_ , her younger self? Following her here to whatever this dream world is?

But no, Addison's hair was lighter, her face was different.

"What are you doing?" Addison's voice comes out as a whisper.

"Hiding," the little girl whispers back.

"Oh." Addison squats down, balancing on her heels. "That's, um, that's a good hiding spot."

She pouts a little bit. "Nuh-uh, you found me."

"I did find you." Addison thinks for a moment, trying not to stare too obviously at the little girl. "But … I was looking for you for a long time first."

The child brightens at this. "You were?"

 _You have no idea how long._

"Yeah, I was." Addison nods solemnly.

"Good." The little girl giggles and walks out from behind the curtains straight into Addison's arms.

 _This isn't real. This isn't real._

But it feels _so_ real, the warm weight of the toddler against her as she stands up, balancing her on her hip, her sweet inquisitive little face.

 _I don't even know your name ... so why do I think I've known you all along?_

"Look what I found." Addison tries to keep her voice neutral as she carries her charge into the kitchen.

"Much quicker than yesterday!" Derek smiles at her. "Hey, Ellie … come and help Daddy set the table, sweetie, so Mommy can go change."

 _This is about all the change I can take, actually._

Derek is reaching for … Ellie, that's her name, and Addison has a moment of wanting to hang on, but she passes their daughter

 _their daughter, oh god, they have a daughter, they have a son and a daughter_

into his arms.

"Nick, you ready to do the napkins? Come over here, buddy, I already took them out for you."

Addison pauses outside the kitchen, not quite ready to leave this scene of … startling, heart-stopping domesticity? Nick is sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor now, carefully folding colorful cloth napkins. Ellie is hanging onto her father's legs and he's teasing her by walking around with her attached. The whole first floor smells heavenly. Homely.

 _Oh, my god._

She leans back against the wall in the foyer, where they can't see her.

Carefully, she climbs the stairs. Letting muscle memory guide her, she pushes open the door to their bedroom.

Everything is different.

A lot of things are the same … but everything is different.

There's the same mahogany sleigh bed they picked out together, though the duvet is different and there was definitely not a one-eyed stuffed rabbit sitting on the pillows last time she saw it. The framed pictures hanging on the walls, resting on the mahogany chests, those are new. Well, the wedding portrait was there before. But the baby pictures, the rows of time marching along with first babies, then toddlers, then small children … she swallows hard when she sees … _herself_ … looking obviously pregnant, one of Derek's hands resting on the swell of her belly.

 _Pregnant. I was pregnant._

She picks up a silver frame on the bureau to distract herself, the same thought entering her mind: _it's me … but it's not me_.

It looks like her. It looks just like her. The woman in the photograph is smiling broadly. Her head is inclined toward Derek, who has one arm wrapped around her and the other holding Nick on his knee. Addison has Ellie in her lap, one arm securing her daughter and the other holding a broad-brimmed hat on her head. The air seems light, beachy, and all four of them look sun-kissed and happy.

 _Can that really be me?_

She draws the steadiest breath she can manage. Whatever's going on, whatever _this_ is, a fever dream or a hangover or … a psychotic break – but hopefully not the last one – she'll just have to play along until she figures it out. She's alone now, so she can calm herself down, change her clothes, and pretend it's normal that Derek is cooking her dinner right now while their two children help him set the table.

Stepping carefully over a small tower of wooden alphabet blocks, she heads for her large, walk-in closet. At least nothing in here should surprise her much, assuming the Addison who lives here now has similar taste in clothes. She breathes a sigh of – well, almost relief, at familiar racks of clothing. Shoes. Nice and organized the way she likes it. Sensible. Not scary at all.

"It's about time," says a cool voice from somewhere south of a row of silk blouses. "I've been waiting for you."

Addison takes an automatic step back with a little shriek, then just stares, her lips parting into a circle of shock.

It can't be.

 _Nope. No way._

This is too much.

But the voice is unmistakable.

"Unless you're trying to catch flies, dear, it would be polite to close your mouth."

* * *

 _TBC ... as quickly as I can. Keep me on track with reviews; you know how I work! And thank you so much for reading. :)_


	3. Shoes

**A/N: Thank you** to the stars and back for the reviews. Here's a longer chapter to make up for the longer delay. Next one should go up faster - review and keep me in check. Enjoy!

* * *

 ** _Shoes_**

* * *

" _Unless you're trying to catch flies, dear, it would be polite to close your mouth."_

Addison stares open-mouthed as a familiar figure emerges from a row of silk blouses in the closet, brushing at an imaginary piece of lint on her black and white tweed jacket. Concentric circles of pearls hang from her neck.

She looks perfect, of course. Her mother always looks perfect, even when she's walking out of the back of Addison's closet.

Wait. Not _her_ closet, the closet belonging to the Addison who lives here. Here, in this warm and fragrant dinner-scented brownstone with a husband who loves her and two adorable children.

She has one brief uncharitable thought: _at least that lucky Addison still got stuck with my mother._

"That's rude, dear," Bizzy frowns at her.

"You can … read my thoughts?" Addison's eyes widen. "Am I dead? Is this heaven?"

"I'm flattered," Bizzy says drily, "though I imagine you're referring more to the shoe collection than to seeing me. You always did have good taste in clothing. Someone must have taught you well. And no, this isn't heaven. And I can't read your thoughts any more than anyone else can. You really must work on your poker face."

"Can that wait until I figure out what the _hell_ is going on?"

"Language, dear." Bizzy frowns. "A lady is judged on her language, you know."

"Bizzy … forgive me but it's a little hard to be _normal_ right now," she whispers fiercely.

"I don't see why."

Addison has a sudden flash of horror – what if this is really Bizzy, and in this universe she and Bizzy are the best of pals, and her mother was just … rearranging Addison's closet?

No, no, that's not it. There's a knowing … _twinkle,_ for lack of a better word, in Bizzy's eyes.

"Aha!" Addison points a finger at her. "You know what's going on."

"Addison," her mother says, but Addison interrupts before she can scold her for pointing.

"You know where I am. I know you do. Bizzy, please." Addison takes a step toward her. "Tell me where I am."

"You're home," Bizzy says simply.

"No." Addison shakes her head. "No, home is California. Home is where you visited me last week. Home hasn't been here, in this house, for years."

 _And it was never like this when I lived here. No little voices, no tiny cutlery, no children's laughter._

"You know, it's interesting," Bizzy says casually, turning back to the closet and fingering a silk blouse. "How many different combinations you can make with just a few basic staples. Classic pieces, really."

"Is that … code? Is that some sort of code?" Addison studies her mother's profile. How can Bizzy be so calm when the world has turned upside down?

"Just an observation." Bizzy runs her hand along a tweed jacket not that different from the one she herself is wearing. "There are so many different ways for the pieces to fit together. The options almost seem endless. Don't you think?"

"But this isn't how the pieces fit together. This _wasn't_ … this wasn't my life," she protests. "Not yesterday, not today, not … Bizzy, _how did I get here?_ "

"Choices," her mother says firmly. "There are so many choices. Especially for women, don't you think?"

"I don't know, are we still talking about fashion?"

"You and your jokes." Bizzy actually smiles at her, then pats her arm. Addison feels the burn of her fingers through the sleeve of her blouse. "But you need to pay attention, dear. You don't have much time."

"Much time before what?" Her heart speeds up. "Bizzy? What are you talking about?"

She decides she liked her mother better as a fashion guru than some sort of … harbinger of doom.

"You were always a worrier, Addison," Bizzy says, her tone almost fond. "But you'll know what you need to know."

"I'll _know what I need to know_? What does that even mean?"

"Our choices are all we have, in the end." Bizzy smiles vaguely at her, then turns back toward the closet.

"No, wait, don't go-" Addison stretches out a hand. "Please. Tell me – tell me what you mean. I don't have much time? Much time before what?"

"It's almost Christmas," Bizzy says as if the answer is obvious, and Addison could swear she hears a faint chiming of bells; it's a familiar sound, though she can't place it.

"Bizzy," she calls as her mother takes a step away. "Wait, can you just-"

"Mommy?"

Addison turns around so quickly she almost loses her balance. "Nicky! Hi, sweetheart."

The word pops out naturally, she crosses her fingers it's one her alter ego would use.

"Who were you talking to?" Nicky's tone is innocently curious.

"Um … " She glances around the room. Bizzy is gone, of course. "No one. I was just … talking to myself. While I got changed."

She looks down and realizes she hasn't changed a stitch of clothing yet.

"Like when you tie my shoes?" Nicky cocks his head, which makes him look so much like his father that her throat feels thick. "And you say _under, around, over, and through_?"

"Yes, just like that," Addison says quickly.

"Oh." He considers this. "Daddy said to come tell you dinner's ready."

"Thank you, Nicky. Will you tell Daddy –" and her heart twists a little as she says it, the word just flows out naturally – "that I'll be down in just a minute?"

"Okay!" He turns and bounds out of the room and Addison slumps against the wall, trying to make sense of this world.

…

Sitting around the heavy oak table for all the world like a family, she replays Bizzy's cryptic words over and over.

Derek glances at her and Addison realizes she's sitting still, thinking about the bizarre interaction in their bedroom. Smiling nervously at Derek, she focuses on the dishes of roasted vegetables, helping him serve food onto the children's little plates. On the other side of the table, Derek is cutting small pieces from the thigh for Ellie. He's already carved a piece of breast for Addison.

She finds herself automatically detaching the drumstick for Nicky and putting it on his plate; he gives her a toothy grin in response. It's his favorite.

 _Wait. How did I know that?_

She remembers her mother's words. _You'll know what you need to know._

Oh, if only that can be true for more than just chicken parts. She gazes around the table again, at these innocent faces who seem to have no idea someone they love has been replaced by a stranger. She vows to do her best to keep from upsetting them, to play it as straight as she can, at least until she can figure out what's going on.

"How was your day, Addie?"

Derek looks sincerely interested.

 _Oh, you know, it was so crazy that I think I might have had a stroke._

"Oh, you know, the usual. Nothing too interesting," she lies smoothly. "How about yours?"

He looks confused for a moment. "You mean the-"

"Mommy," Ellie interrupts, "are you going to read _two_ books to me?"

Addison glances from Derek to the little girl. "Yes. Sure. Of course I will."

Ellie beams, then picks up a piece of carrot with her fingers. Addison is taken by the details again, the children's unbreakable plates, shaped like small oval trays with different divided sections. Their little silverware with bulging soft handles to make cutting and spearing easier. Did she pick these things out? Did Derek? Did they choose them together?

"Use your fork, sweetie." Derek helps her grasp the child-sized cutlery and pick up another piece.

"This is delicious," Addison says honestly.

"Not as good as yours."

 _This Addison can cook, too?_ She prays briefly to whoever is listening – Bizzy? – that she won't be called upon to do so. Unless that's another set of knowledge that will just pop into her head.

…

All four plates are closer to empty when Nicky pitches a sprig of roasted broccoli at his sister; it helps make their dinner a bit less picture-perfect and a little more real. Ellie picks it up in her tiny fingers and pouts. "Did you see-" she turns her parents to report the offense.

"Throw it back," Derek suggests.

"Honey," Addison scolds gently.

Where did _that_ come from?

"Mommy's right," Derek says solemnly. He holds out his hand for the offending missile; Ellie places it in his open palm and then Derek pops it into his mouth. "Delicious," he pronounces.

Ellie glances from one parent to the other, then stick her tongue out at her brother.

"Ah, such a peaceful dinner," Derek grins at her and she smiles back shakily, trying to play along. "Does this mean everybody's done?"

Nick and Ellie both nod.

"Good. Help us take your dishes into the kitchen and then we're going to get ready for bed – remember, we have to get up early to go to the Christmas Tree Farm," Derek says in a tone that makes it sound like it's not news to anyone except Addison, speaking over the children's initial protests. But at the term _Christmas Tree Farm,_ both children respond with vocal excitement, not even dampened – much – by the corollary that bedtime is approaching fast.

 _So we don't have a Christmas tree yet._

It can't be that close to Christmas, then.

…

Upstairs – because _get ready for bed_ is a family affair – she lets herself be led into a cozy room she doesn't recognize. Except she does: this was the … second door on the right, the guest room, she recalls. It was clean and spare, white linens, antique table with an orchid in a pearlescent vase.

Now it's warm and cheerfully crowded with a thick blue rug, a weathered pine child-sized bed with a bright yellow quilt, a whole wall of bookshelves, and colorful objects – stuffed animals, little rubber figurines of various types, puzzles, games – fill the shelves and scatter onto the carpet. The room is obviously well used.

Her eye falls on a white frame hanging on the wall just inside the room.

That's where she learns that Nicholas Christopher Shepherd was born on September 22nd, five years ago. Pausing in front of the framed birth announcement, she can't help touching the glass. It's simple cardstock with a little blue ribbon at the top. Just what she would have picked out. She learns that he was twenty inches long at birth. Eight pounds, five ounces – she winces a little at that. She's still staring; whether it's because she's an OB-GYN or because concrete proof in this confusing universe is so hard to come by … she can't look away. More than the sparkling blue eyes, the messy dark curls, the freckles on his nose, it's this framed announcement that cements her son's reality.

Five years ago, someone engraved these cards. Someone sent them out. _Addison and Derek Shepherd,_ that's what it says at the bottom of the announcement.

Five years ago, they had a son. Five years ago, she became a mother. It's everything she's wanted so badly.

And she can't remember it.

Drawing a shaky breath, she turns back to her family. Derek is on the floor with both children, engaged in what sounds like a serious conversation about what they should read before bed. Ellie, holding a hardcover book about the same she is, pauses her impassioned argument when she sees Addison sit down on the soft blue rug.

"Mommy." Ellie climbs onto her lap, touching her face. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," Addison assures her quickly. "My eyes are just tired."

She smiles at the little girl, stroking her reddish-brown hair out of her eyes, and is relieved to see her look reassured.

Her eyes aren't really tired, of course. They're not tired at all. If it meant she could keep looking at these children … she'd never close them again.

…

"PJs first, then books, you know the drill," Derek is kneeling in front of a weathered pine dresser now, Nicky half-heartedly piling some of his toys away from the rug as requested.

"Me first," Ellie demands, tugging on her father's shirt. "My room."

"I'll take you," Addison volunteers, holding out her hand to her daughter. The more of the house she can see without Derek noticing her confusion, the better. Hopefully Ellie will lead her straight to her bedroom.

Her daughter's little hand tucks into hers comfortably, they've made it to the doorway of Nicky's bedroom when she hears chimes from downstairs.

 _It's the same doorbell._

It shouldn't shock her, except that so much is different.

"Um, Derek?" She leans back toward Nicky's room. "Did you hear-"

"Yeah." He's kneeling in front of their son, stripping a miniature sweater over his head and then tousling the curls that are standing straight up in its wake. Nicky laughs, and Derek looks up at her as he starts helping Nicky unbutton his little shirt. "You mind getting it, Addie?"

"Sure. I mean, no, I don't mind." She pauses. "Are you expecting someone?" she asks hopefully, visions of opening the door to a stranger she should know dancing through her mind.

Derek responds but she can't make out his words the delighted squeals of Nicky, whose stomach is apparently very ticklish. She files that information away for later.

"Me too, Mommy." Ellie holds up her arms and Addison responds, her little body already starting feel familiar against her hip. She knots little fingers in the collar of her shirt, snuggling close, and for a moment Addison just stands in the open doorway, breathing in the sweet-citrus scent of the little girl's hair.

It's joy mixed with guilt, because this isn't real. Because this child must have a real mother out there somewhere, the one in the pictures, the happy Addison. Who is she? _Where_ is she? For one moment of panicked confusion she wonders whether that Addison has been plunged into _her_ life in Los Angeles.

And then her eyes prickle when she thinks about what a terrible shock that would be. Imagine reaching for the door to this warm, vibrant family home and walking in to an empty house instead?

No. That can't be right. She reminds herself to ask Bizzy next time she sees her.

 _If_ she sees her.

 _Oh, Bizzy, this is one time it would be great to be able to count on you._

Ellie is pushing Addison's hair away from her shoulders, smiling at her.

"You want to get the door with me?" Addison keeps up conversational chatter as they walk down the hall.

"Yeah, the door," Ellie says happily.

"Who do you think it is?" Addison realizes how ridiculous the question sounds as soon as she says it. Pumping a three-year-old for information – is she three? Addison's hoping to get into her bedroom and find a corresponding birth announcement in there; it's the bare minimum of information she needs.

"Hmmm." Ellie scrunches up her face, seeming to be thinking seriously about the question. "Maybe it's Santa!"

Addison laughs. "I don't think Santa's coming quite yet. He has to wait until Christmas."

"It's Christmas tomorrow," Ellie says, "right?"

"Not tomorrow. But … soon." She makes her way carefully down the stairs, balancing Ellie on her hip. It's a beautiful home she's landed in. It's a beautiful _life_ she's landed in, as she smooths her daughter's silky hair with her free hand – this child who feels brand new and absolutely familiar all at once.

In this life, Derek loves her. They have children. They have two children who seem to love them back, who love each other. From this angle on the staircase she can see over the railing into the open doorway of the den; there are four stockings hanging over the fireplace. It's magical.

It's _perfect_.

Except nothing is perfect; 42 years in the other universe made that very clear to her.

Maybe that's why, despite the last few hours, she's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There's another loud knock from outside. "All right, hold your horses," she mutters, which makes Ellie giggle.

"Just a minute!" she calls more politely for the benefit of whoever's waiting as she takes the final few stairs to the foyer, crossing the fingers of her free hand one last time that she won't be left too obviously confused by whoever's waiting on the other side.

She draws a deep breath and pulls open the door, a gust of cold air blowing into the foyer as she does.

"Took you long enough."

…and there it goes.

 _Clunk._

It's the other shoe.

* * *

 _TBC. So many of you guessed Bizzy. I will have to work harder to fool you, or accept that you are all geniuses at predictions. Next update faster than the last time, I promise. Please keep reading and keep letting me know what you think! I basically run on coffee, dark chocolate, and reviews at this point. So press that button and keep me fed and creative. THANK YOU!_


	4. Red and Green

**A/N: Thank you** and a hot buttered rum to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You are all the best and I hope you like the new chapter.

* * *

 _ **Red and Green**_

* * *

 _It's the other shoe._

... in the form of a very familiar face smirking at her from their top step.

With some effort, she stammers out his name.

"Ladies," he says in response, nodding greeting to Addison and Ellie. "Could have frozen to death out here by now."

"It's not that cold," Addison says weakly. Truthfully, she's shocked by the gust of wintry air that followed their visitor into the foyer. She hasn't felt the bite of an east coast winter in years.

"Can I come in, or…?"

"Of course," she responds, hoping she sounds confident, and takes a step back to let him in. This world is different. This _Addison_ is different so Mark must be too. Except there's no real way to tell, is there?

He looks the same. _He_ looks confident, with the same grin that's a few degrees north of a smirk. What can she say to him? Excuse me, Mark, did you by any chance have sex with me? Have you and I destroyed this perfect family?

"Hold your horses!" Ellie repeats Addison's words to Mark, giggling.

"Oh yeah? Is that what your mom said? That's 'cause she's impatient." Mark reaches out to poke Ellie's little stomach and she giggles again.

"Mark, don't rile her up before bedtime."

 _Where did that come from?_

"Excuse me, you know that's my _job._ " He's smiling at both of them with affection.

...but just affection, right?

"What are you doing here?" She figures the question is safe, or at least easy to excuse if he's surprised by it. But he doesn't seem to be.

He reaches into his pocket and holds up a brown glove. "This," he says.

She recognizes the glove immediately. It's one of a pair she bought for Derek for Christmas years back, deep chocolate leather, buttery-soft, lined with cashmere. She loved the way the shade played against his camel-colored winter coat.

"Derek left it in my office. I thought he'd need it for tomorrow – because I heard he's going to be outside picking out a Christmas tree."

He says _Christmas tree_ with great ceremony and Ellie bobs with delight in her arms, starting to chatter eagerly to Mark about their plans for the next day.

Addison reaches out for the glove. "Thanks," she says as her fingers close around the material, as buttery-soft as she remembers. She examines the glove for a moment – it's the right hand glove. Of course he'd leave the right glove in Mark's office; he was always shedding one glove to use his dominant hand, whether to check his blackberry or sign a last minute chart.

He lost the right glove between the hospital and the brownstone in late winter one year – probably left it in a cab, but it never turned up.

No, wait. That was _her_ Derek, the one she remembers. This Derek has his right glove. She's holding it right now. It smells like leather. It's warm from Mark's pocket. It feels so real.

"Mommy?" Ellie pats her cheek with one soft little hand, getting her attention. "Mommy, can I take the glove to Daddy?"

"Um – why don't you wait for me, Ellie, and we can –"

Mark is vigorously shaking his head, gesturing that he wants to talk to Addison alone.

So this Mark has the same set of gestures in his playbook. That makes her nervous. He catches her eye and she finds herself unable to pretend she doesn't understand what he means.

"Please?" Ellie draws out the syllable, a smile working the corner of her little pink mouth.

"Okay, sweetie." Addison kisses the top of her fragrant head. "I'll be up in a minute, okay?" She sets Ellie down in front of the bottom step, handing her the glove. It looks comically oversized in her tiny hand. Her other hand holds onto the banister as she climbs the long staircase. Addison watches her little fingers curl around the spokes.

"Night, peanut," Mark calls up the stairs, distracting Addison from a flicker of memory; Ellie gives him a little wave over her shoulder in response.

Mark takes a step closer once Ellie has disappeared from view and she automatically takes a step back.

He looks confused.

"Addison … "

"Yes?" She tries to keep her voice steady. It's not like she'd be able to explain away the fear that's threatening to make it tremble. _I'm worried another me is sleeping with you._ She'd end up committed.

"Addison," he repeats, "don't you want to know why I'm really here?"

 _No._

"Um … to bring Derek his glove?" She tries to smile.

"No. That could have waited until the next time I saw him."

"But he's going to the Christmas Tree Farm tomorrow so he needs them …." Her voice trails off.

Mark shakes his head.

Oh.

"It's about Sunday."

"Sunday."

"They changed the time on us. It's hard when you book for couples."

 _Couples. Oh, damn._ This Addison isn't as perfect as she seems. All this time she thought she wouldn't have strayed if her life had been what she needed, and yet …

"Okay," she says warily.

"So let's meet at 9:30 instead of 10."

"9:30 instead of 10," she repeats.

"Addison … are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says quickly. "Um, you came all the way here to tell me that? You couldn't have just … texted, or … ?"

"Wasn't sure if Derek would see it. Addison, you're acting like this is the first time."

"Right. Um. Yes." She searches her mind for an innocent explanation. The thought occurs to her that _couples_ could mean a double date – horribly unlikely, but she's feeling desperate. "So, um, is Derek coming on Sunday too, or …?"

He's looking at her like she's crazy. "I think that would kind of defeat the whole purpose, don't you?"

She blinks.

"Look, Addison, you're the one who wanted to keep this from him. I'm going along with it, but I still think it would be easier if we just tell him. All this sneaking around … he's going to catch on."

Her heart is thumping.

Mark looks at her curiously. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Mark."

"So I'll see you at 9:30 on Sunday at Café Luna."

"Okay." She actually remembers Café Luna. It's only two blocks away, but it was their lesser favored coffee spot. All three of them preferred Umber, a block away. So Mark's chosen the café they'd be less likely to be found.

Great.

"I'm gonna go," Mark says, interrupting her thoughts. He nods toward the staircase. "Tell the guys I said hi, huh?"

"You don't want to come up and, um, say hi yourself?"

"Nah." He shakes his head. "I told you it's too hard to look Derek in the eye when I'm hiding something from him. Night, Addie."

"Good night," she says faintly.

She stares after him as he walks down the steps. It's cold in the foyer, but she watches him walk down the sidewalk anyway, thinking of the two sweet children upstairs, of the Derek in this universe who

 _Oh, other-Addison, what have you done?_

…

"Mommy!" Ellie exclaims when she walks back into Nicky's room. The little boy beams at her, too, and Addison realizes ruefully that she's had more enthusiastic greetings since she walked into this upside-down world a few hours ago than she can remember in the last year.

The children are sitting on Nicky's bed now, on either side of Derek, a cacophony of pillows and stuffed animals behind them for support. There's a hardcover book open on his upraised knees; he has one arm circling Ellie, the other guiding Nicky through recognizing words he seems to know. The children seem to be taking turns turning the pages.

She just stands in the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene. Both children are wearing pajamas now, in patterns of red and white for Ellie, green and white for Nicky. The material looks soft even from a distance and she doesn't have to get up close to know what the patterns will represent.

"Mommy, read with us." Nicky is smiling at her, patting the bed next to him.

There's not a lot of room, but she makes her way onto the cheerful striped comforter and settles in next to her son – and then behind him, as he leans back against her. Hesitantly at first, she strokes the rumpled dark curls resting against her sweater.

"You got here just in time for the best part." Derek turns to smile at her.

 _The best part._ Is there something better than what they're doing already, than sweet sleepy children in Christmas pajamas curled up reading … in a scene so lovely she can't believe it's her life?

Because it's not, she reminds herself. It's another Addison's life.

Still, though...

"The best part?"

Derek holds up the book with an expression that she thinks may suggest it's a favorite.

She reads the title on the shiny red and green jacket, battered from wear: _Bear Gets Home for Christmas._

"Mommy. Bear's about to find the sled." Nicky pats her arm, the one wrapped around him, for emphasis. "S-l-e-d," he adds.

"Good job," she praises his spelling, and he turns to beam at her.

And she settles against the pile of pillows to listen to Derek read about Bear, who is … trying to get home for Christmas. Apparently this is one book you can judge by its cover.

She listens to Derek reading, pausing to let Nicky read words or answer Ellie's questions, letting both children recite familiar passages and pick out favorite illustrations. "And then Bear said, 'this isn't my home,' and he knew that he had to move on." he pauses. "Hey, Addie, you sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay." She nods quickly.

"You had a long day." _Oh, honey, you have no idea._ "You want to go lie down and I'll finish up with the monsters?"

"We're not monsters! We're _kids,_ " Nicky says firmly.

"Are you sure?" Derek studies him with a confused expression.

"You're being silly, Daddy," Ellie lifts her head from his chest to inform him. "Stay with us, Mommy," she implores, holding out a little hand, and even if Addison had been inclined to go to bed alone – which she isn't – there's no way she could have resisted that.

Addison reaches out to rub the little girl's back, feeling the soft material of her pajama top. Rows of candy canes march across the fabric in horizontal stripes. They look new, bright without any fading, almost as if they're-

"This year's Christmas pajamas." The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop herself.

"Right." Derek looks a bit puzzled at her outburst, "remember, you didn't –"

"I didn't want to wait until Christmas to give them the new ones," Addison says slowly. "So we gave them at Thanksgiving."

Images start to flicker at the corner of her mind. Just flashes, and some corresponding sensations. Earthy, autumnal scents – pumpkin, and rosemary. A child's voice she recognizes now as Nicky's. Derek, laughing. _Don't grow too much before Christmas._ The sensation of Ellie in her arms, hugging her neck, silky hair tickling her nose.

 _I remember._

It's not much … but it's something.

…

With both children tucked into bed – Addison stayed a step behind Derek at each stage, taking her cues from him and hoping desperately that she wouldn't accidentally slip up – they retreat together to the master bedroom.

Standing in front of the large mirror over her sink, she slips the sweater over her head and then stares at her reflection. Gently, she prods the skin around her cheekbones. She looks … the same. She examines her hands carefully, not really sure what she's looking for, then turns to study each profile. Even her hair is the same length. So this Addison bobbed it at the same time she did.

For a fleeting moment she wishes she could have a moment with the other Addison. _Are you as freaked out as I am?_

"Addison?"

She jumps when she sees Derek in the open doorway, one hand flying to her chest.

"You startled me!"

"Sorry," he says immediately. "I just wanted to brush my teeth."

She's wearing a thin tank top and feels a little self-conscious but he just smiles at her. "Do you mind?"

"No, it's fine," she says faintly. Derek seems perfectly comfortable, and she follows his lead, taking her toothbrush from her side – it's still her side – of the double sink. He squeezes a neat line of toothpaste onto her brush first, then his, and they stand side by side, brushing. She glances into the mirror occasionally to look at him; he catches her once, and she blushes. He looks pleased.

When he's done and patted his face dry with the same pale grey washcloth she remembers selecting, he grins at her. "Don't make me wait too long to freeze my feet off," he says, and leans forward for a quick kiss that tastes like mint.

She touches her lips briefly as he walks away, then returns to her routine. This Addison has left it fairly easy for her, with most things where she remembers: the cold cream, the soft puffs she prefers to terry cloth, the moisturizer she smooths onto her face and neck. She checks, and – thankfully, there's a pair of silky pajamas in a deep blue hanging on the back of the door in the anteroom beyond the sinks.

"Was that too long?"

She could kick herself after she says it; he looks up at her with a slow smile and smoky eyes and she has no business flirting with him – he's a stranger. He's wearing a navy t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms when she emerges from the bathroom; it could be any year of their marriage. Short sleeves. He was always warm in sleep, even in December, and she sought his heat. Her toes were always cold and she'd tease him with them, run a foot slowly up his warmer calf until he relented and used the heat of his body to ease the winter chill.

He's propped up on top of the covers on his side of the bed – funny, it seems like this mirror image of her solitary life should include mirrored positions on the bed, but it doesn't seem to. She traces a hand over the familiar whorls of their sleigh bed. They're still living in the brownstone. Were the children conceived there? She wants to remember. She wants to remember more.

He stands up and without discussing it each takes a corner of the duvet and folds it down. He eases into bed first, and at the intent in his eyes she swallows hard. This isn't fair to him, whatever _this_ is. He's expecting his wife, and she's … a stranger. But as her silky pajamas help her glide into bed, he just rolls toward her and pulls her into his arms like it's perfectly natural.

The shape of him is so familiar, the feeling of his arms, the placements of his hands. _It's not real,_ she reminds herself, but she inhales the clean scent of the skin where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Did you set your alarm?"

The words slide out of her mouth automatically, as they did for years, marital linguistics that apparently never left her.

"I set it … optimistically." One of his hands settles into her hair. "Six fifteen. but you know they'll be in here before that."

"Yeah," she agrees, hoping it sounds convincing. She moves her head a little to make it easier to talk. "Thanks for making dinner tonight," she says, almost shyly.

"You don't have to thank me."

She settles against him again, and feels him flinch, then gather her closer as her colder feet tangle with his warmer ones.

"Temperature's dropping again. Good thing I have my other glove." He pauses. "Mark came all this way just to drop it off?"

She freezes in his arms, hoping he can't feel the tension in her body. But his tone is utterly casual, no suspicion or trace of anything else behind it.

"He said you'd need it for tomorrow," she says, hoping her voice sounds steady.

"That was nice of him."

His hand is on the base of her neck now, rubbing gently, and she remembers the exact feel of her fingers. She's always liked this soothing gesture and it calms her, as it always has. Even though she's still confused by everything in this new world.

"Yeah." She sighs against him, not wanting to believe that the Addison in this world is sacrificing _this_ marriage – the one she never got to enjoy, the one where they love each other and look at each other and make a family with each other.

"Addie … are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm just tired." She takes a chance. This Addison has two children on top of her work; surely she's tired.

"I don't know why," he says solemnly. "You had a full night of sleep … " His eyes twinkle. "…five and a half years ago."

She smiles at this, feeling conflicted but not wanting to show it. These sleepless nights with their small children – she wants to remember them. She wants to remember everything.

If she concentrates, she can pick up small, dreamlike sensations – blurry edges of things. Blurry edges of _something._ A shock of dark hair, a small child's laugh, a flash of red and green. Some kind of thick white paper, like parchments. Hot sweet chocolate on her tongue.

Then it's gone.

And she wants more. Is it selfish? This glimpse of family isn't enough for her?

But she knows it's not enough. Bizzy said _you don't have much time,_ although she didn't tell her what for. Is there something she's supposed to do here? To … accomplish? A task of some sort?

Will she have to figure it out herself?

It wasn't just an excuse; she really is tired, too. Derek shifts onto his back, bringing her with him so that she's lying against his chest, one of his hands resting at the top of her head. Just the way his palm cups her skull feels so familiar.

 _I missed you._

No. She forces that thought down as he turns his head and kisses her gently; she finds herself responding without considering it first, her fingers sliding into his hair. "We should get some sleep," he says, sounding a little disappointed even as he smiles down at her. "Remember what happened last year?"

She feels the soft press of his lips against her hair.

"Of course I remember what happened last year," she says faintly.

 _God, I wish I did._

* * *

 ** _To be continued ... of course. Great job all you Mark-guessers (I liked the other guesses, too). I love reviews like the Shepherds love Christmas. So please be the mug to my juju and review!_**


	5. Practically Perfect in Every Way

**A/N:** **Thank you so much** to you beautiful people who've been reviewing like champs. It makes everything go faster and makes wearing through a keyboard cover totally worth it (don't worry, it's already replaced). Enjoy.

* * *

 ** _Practically Perfect in Every Way_**

* * *

Addison wakes up with a jolt to an unfamiliar weight on her legs.

It's a dream.

Or maybe it's a cat?

No, it's a small round face with bright blue eyes.

"Mommy." A little hand is patting her cheek. "You up, Mommy?"

"She's up now, El." Derek is laughing.

And the whole thing comes screaming back to her. She clutches at the duvet, gathering herself. She's here in the marital brownstone she left behind years ago, her ex-husband tucked contentedly in beside her and their little daughter beaming at her.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," Derek says, and Addison hears Ellie squeal as, presumably, he tickles her.

"We're going to the farm!" Ellie has crawled between her parents now and is bouncing excitedly on her knees on the springy mattress.

Nicky appears seemingly out of thin air and then he, too, clambers onto the bed. Both children are pink-cheeked and tousle-haired, their Christmas pajamas wrinkled with sleep.

Addison struggles to see the clock on the wall. It's early. Very early. Ellie is peering at her with interest; instinctively, Addison tugs the little girl down to snuggle. Maybe they can all fall back asleep together, and …

"Mommy!" Nicky is poking her now. "We're hungry!"

She pushes up on her elbows. She can do this. She gets up early all the time, but there usually aren't two children waiting to be fed who aren't going to be able to eat the one meal she can cook: red wine and a few bites of whatever's around to coat her stomach.

"Who wants pancakes?"

Addison turns to Derek with gratitude.

Both children are jumping on the bed now with more energy than seems normal for the early hour. Derek corrals them to help him make breakfast, turning back to Addison, who's still sitting up in bed feeling like a whirlwind just passed over her.

"You look tired. Why don't you sleep a little more and we'll come get you when we're ready to eat?"

He looks genuine – concerned and loving and it twists her hear. "No, honey, I'm up," she assures him. The _honey_ just slipped out, that's all, but she doesn't want to miss Derek cooking with their children.

Truthfully? She doesn't want to miss any of this.

She washes her face, already feeling more alert, puts on the robe the other Addison kindly hung in the expected spot, and pads down the stairs. The kitchen already smells like sizzling butter and coffee, and Derek and both children are all wearing red and white striped aprons. Somehow, Derek's doesn't even look ridiculous on him. Both children are seated on the kitchen island, Ellie stirring something in a large ceramic bowl and Nicky painstakingly drying each blueberry in a silver colander.

"Mommy, look!" Ellie raises the wooden spoon she's been holding enthusiastically; batter splatters across her apron and some his Derek's face.

He uses one hand to lower the spoon gently back into the bowl and swipes the batter off his cheek with the other, then licks his finger clean. "Mm, delicious," he says and Ellie giggles.

"You're supposed to cook it first!"

Derek just smiles at her, then turns to Addison. "How did you sleep?"

He looks a little worried, and she starts to wonder if there's something going on she hasn't figured out yet – in addition to all the other things she hasn't figured out, of course.

"I slept fine," she assures him. _Considering I've been pretty much just dreaming since I walked in the door last night, that is._

She pours a cup of coffee from the steaming carafe. It smells delicious, and she takes a grateful sip, pleased to learn that the Derek in this universe makes good coffee too.

The kitchen in the brownstone has never been this alive. She recognizes the appliances she picked out, the marble of the kitchen island, but the most time she spent in there was eating takeout on one of the stools or leaning against the counter to drink a glass of wine at night. The housekeeper went in there to clean and to patiently stock the fridge with things neither Shepherd used, other than the beans Addison ordered specially for coffee. It's a big kitchen – supposedly a feature of the house, with two separate entryways, a pantry, loads of storage space – but it always felt too big.

Now, with both children standing on little wooden stepstools to help Derek measure batter into the sizzling pan, chattering and laughing, it somehow feels just the right size.

...

The blueberry pancakes taste as good as they smelled and her second cup of coffee makes her feel much more alert.

Which is good, because the task of getting two excited, wriggling children ready to go out to a Christmas tree farm is a lot more challenging than she anticipated. It's the least she can do, after Derek cooked breakfast and is currently washing the dishes.

But it's something like wrestling very cute, very slippery eels. No sooner has she relieved Ellie of the top half of her pajamas than the little girl runs shrieking down the hallway to Nicky's room, climbing onto his bed and diving into a heap of stuffed animals.

"I can do it," Nicky says every time Addison tries to help him, with the result that he gets a hank of curly hair trapped in the buttons of his pajama top and howls indignantly.

Nicky's anguish makes Ellie peer out from her stuffed-animal cave and then dart back to her own room.

Meanwhile, Addison carefully detaches Nicky's hair from the buttons; when she removes the shirt he's staring at her with wide eyes and she tugs him into an impulsive hug, deciding to find him a pullover shirt to wear today.

"I want to wear this one," Ellie announces, marching back into Nicky's room holding a pink tutu with an enormous starched skirt as wide as Ellie is tall.

"Uh … you might not be warm enough."

Ellie's lower lip trembles.

"Hang on, sweetie." Addison turns back to Nicky, who is sitting on the carpet determinedly dragging cozy-looking corduroys up his little legs.

"Underpants first," she whispers to him, and he blushes a little.

"El – let's pick out something warm to wear, okay?" She lifts the little girl to her hip. "We're going to be outside when we pick out our tree."

Her eyes light up at the mention of the tree.

"Can we ride the thing? Mommy, can we?"

"Sure," she says guiltily, hoping whatever it is won't be anything too crazy. With that, both children consent to dress in warm, comfortable layers, though Addison learns that putting socks on a child is startlingly difficult; each of them seems to have fifteen or twenty toes on each foot, every one wriggling in a different direction.

Finally, they're dressed, and she leads them downstairs triumphantly. She sees Derek's eyes skate over the three of them. Ellie shrieked when she tried to brush her hair, so she left it in a tangled reddish-brown cloud and figured her winter hat would cover it. Nicky is wearing one blue and one green sock, but it took so long to get each one on that she was certainly not going to fix it.

"We're ready," she says bravely.

"Mommy." Ellie tugs on her hand. " _You're_ still wearing your PJs."

"Right," she responds with feigned dignity, looking down at her sleepwear. "I'll just … go get dressed, then.

…

When she returns to the first floor in jeans and warm layers, both children are sitting on the bottom step playing with some kind of a toy that's speaking back to them. She ruffles their heads as she steps around them and joins Derek in the foyer.

He's standing in the open hall closet; he turns to her as he takes down two little matching navy coats with velvet collars and polished wooden toggles.

They're adorable, but they're also stiff and formal. They remind her a bit of the coats of her own youth; they look like something her mother would buy, and she's surprised to see that this Addison, who seems to be fully comfortable with the rough and tumble life of two small children, would dress them so formally.

Derek doesn't take the coats off the hangers, though, just folds them over his arm and slings a bag crosswise over his chest. There are keys jingling in his pockets. "I'll go get the car."

"Great," she says quickly, because her Derek kept his jeep in a garage she never visited and she wouldn't have the faintest idea which car is his anyway.

The children have abandoned their game now and are standing expectantly at her feet and she realizes they'll need more help getting ready to go outside. She braces herself. "Coats and hats!" She uses a cheerfully authoritative tone – having never had much of a mother herself, she channels Mary Poppins and Carol Brady, her two favorite substitutes, and it seems to work.

The children pad into the closet themselves so she's spared the task of figuring out where to find their coats. She notices for the first time that there are low, child-height hooks hammered into the inside of the door. They clamor at the hooks for a moment, jostling a little, and then return to her with armfuls of winter gear.

This looks more like what she expected. She helps Ellie into a bright, puffy little down coat while Nicky pulls a similar one on by himself. Nicky's is green and Ellie's red, and she kneels down to zip both coats and button the protective plackets. There are also colorful, warm-looking boots with handles on the sides resting on a mat inside the closet. This seems puzzling until she sees both children drop to the ground and pull the boots on themselves. Ah.

"Hats," she reminds them, but they're ahead of her, each wearing a soft-looking woolen hat with an animal's face knitted onto the front, long strings that she supposes she should tie for them, and ears sticking up from the top.

"Mommy," Nicky says from underneath the chocolate-brown bear on his head, "did Daddy say he's here yet?"

 _That's_ what they're waiting for. She silently thanks the little boy for his help.

"Not yet, sweetie," she says, but then her blackberry buzzes and she sees he's outside.

"Okay, now he did, Nicky, you must have read his mind," she teases him a little and he smiles at her. "Ready to go?" she asks brightly.

"Mommy … where are your thingies?" Ellie props little hands on her hips.

"What do you mean, El?"

"Your thingies!" She gestures at her little ears.

 _Oh._ So this Addison doesn't like to mess up her hair with full hats, either. Addison feels a little sense of warm kinship with her and, crossing her fingers, reaches into the closet to find silky fur earmuffs just where she'd expect them.

 _Okay. We do have some things in common after all._

She reaches for the doorknob with some trepidation. What if it's only the house that's magic, and when she steps over the threshold she'll lose all this? She looks down at Nicky and Ellie, who are clamoring around her legs waiting for her to take them outside. She closes her eyes briefly, memorizing their faces just in case, and opens the door.

A blast of wintry hair hits her face but as her boots make contact with the top step, she sees the world around her is still this new one. Relief floods through her, along with some guilt. _This isn't my life. But I don't want to leave._

Outside it's cold enough to see their breath, and the children are excited the moment the icy breeze hits their little faces, chattering about trees and Christmas and hopping from step to step as she pulls the heavy door closed behind her.

Derek is leaning against a big, sensible-looking SUV parked – temporarily, anyway – right in front of their brownstone. He holds out his arms and both children run toward him. Derek opens the door and Addison watches as Nicky clambers in with just a little guidance from his father and then Derek lifts Ellie in after him. Then Derek disappears to the other side of the car; the door opens and his face is visible again.

She tries to take her cues from him, leaning slightly into the car on her side. Ellie smiles up at her and she smiles back.

Derek is leaning over Nicky on one side of the back seat now, strapping him into some kind of complicated booster seat.

Ah, so that's what they're doing.

Which is … not going to be easy.

Ellie's seat looks about as simple as the space shuttle. There are straps, hooks, some kind of central t-shaped holster, and several things she can't identify. Hoping she doesn't look as nervous as she feels, she leans further into the car to help Ellie climb in.

When she's settled, she holds out one little arm expectantly.

Addison smiles weakly. This is going to be interesting.

Taking her best guess, she assumes the loops on either side of the heavily padded seat go around her arms, and once that's done some of the other pieces start falling into place. Except then she's left with two long metal spears and no idea where to put them.

"They go in there," Ellie whispers, pointing to the central bar on her carseat.

"Thanks," Addison whispers back gratefully.

With Ellie secured – god, she hopes she's secured – Addison climbs into the front seat.

She eyes Derek's profile as he pulls away from the curb. It's so familiar, every inch of it – the way it looks from the front seat, the cold sun leaking in from the side window, the warm air blowing out of the vents. The car smells like a family's car, she realizes, like Nancy's car and Lizzie's, apple juice and cheerios and something else, that sweet scent that seems to cling to both children.

"Here." He passes her a silver carafe. It's warm on her chilled hands and the coffee is delicious.

"Play jingles, Daddy," Ellie calls from the back seat as Derek turns on 79th street, presumably heading for the highway. At least the city's geography hasn't changed too much in this world.

Derek laughs. "Okay, but how about we play it all the way through this time, not just the one song over again … what do you think, El?"

She giggles but doesn't answer.

"Addie." Derek nods toward the glove compartment and she smiles weakly.

 _Bizzy, this would be a good time to give me that information you said would pop into my head._

Closing her eyes briefly and hoping she doesn't look too suspicious, she opens the glove compartment to find a small nylon book of CDs.

Okay, that wasn't too bad.

Except five of them have Christmas music, so how is she supposed to know which one is right?

She selects a green one, praying it's right, and slides it into the CD player.

Almost immediately, Christmas music burst forth and Ellie cheers from the back seat. Before long they're all singing. Addison turns around to look at both children. They're pink-cheeked and merry, the familiar lyrics tumbling out of their mouths in semi-recognizable fashion, sometimes making everyone laugh. Ellie kicks her feet happily against her carseat at every chorus.

 _We're singing Christmas carols. We're on our way to buy a Christmas tree and we're singing Christmas carols._

They slow down at the inevitable traffic before getting on the bridge, and Derek looks over at her, smiling. His eyes are so soft. _That's how you used to look at me._

He squeezes the denim-clad leg closest to him. She's a little embarrassed at how hungry she feels for his affectionate touch – _this isn't real, it isn't real,_ but it's … nice.

God, it's nice.

Ellie falls asleep somewhere in Connecticut and Nicky fights it for another twenty minutes or so before joining her. Addison doesn't feel too far behind; the car is so warm and peaceful, the music on low now, watching Derek's hands on the wheel in their familiar leather gloves, the one Mark brought back last night –

 _Mark._

She feels a screeching halt to the perfect little world inside the car. She's seeing Mark tomorrow. She's seeing Mark tomorrow and she has no idea why.

The children are both sleeping peacefully in the backseat. _Don't be sleeping with him. Please don't. Don't do that to these babies._

She sighs a little and Derek glances at her quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

"You okay, Addie?"

"I'm fine." She rests her hand on his thigh again, hoping her touch will reassure him. _I'm not the wife you think I am, I'm so sorry._

"They're still out?"

She turns to the backseat where both children's heads are lolling against the sides of their seats.

"Definitely."

"Good. They can stretch their legs once we get there. And then run off some energy before we drive to your mother's."

… and with those words, this strange new world comes to a screeching halt once again.

* * *

 _TBC (of course). Did you get the reference in the chapter title? Let me know. Review and keep me on track with this alternate world!_


	6. Where It's Warm

**A/N: Thank** **you**

* * *

 _ **Where It's Warm**_

* * *

 _We're going to see Bizzy._

The unexpected news leaves her conflicted. Part of her is almost … happy about it, because if it's the same Bizzy who seems to be acting as some sort of not-particularly-helpful spirit guide, maybe she can get some advice on what she's supposed to be doing here.

The other part of her is as stomach-churningly nervous as she was in the old universe to see her mother. If it's not the same spirit-Bizzy from the brownstone, then not only won't she have helpful advice on how to navigate this alternate universe, but she'll indubitably criticize not just Addison and Derek, but presumably Nick and Ellie, too.

But that would mean that the other Addison, the one who raised those sweet children, is comfortable exposing them to Bizzy's cold critiques.

Like so many other things in this new world … it's a mystery.

She's still pondering that mystery when they pull into what can only be described as Christmas tree heaven. _Smith's Family Farm,_ reads the large, hanging holly-draped wooden sign. The farm itself is right out of a storybook, hay and pine needles competing for which can smell the freshest, which can feel the most seasonal, chattering families, the high shout of children's laughter and the pungent scents of hot cider and chocolate.

There's a fenced in area where children are running free, burning off energy from long car rides, and Nicky and Ellie join them while Derek procures hot chocolate. He brings it over to Addison and they sit a large overturned tree trunk watching the children chase each other across the frosty remains of the grass.

Feeling a little shy, she turns to Derek. She'd like to talk to him. She'd like to ask-

"Hot chocolate!" Nicky bounds over, Ellie hot on his heels, and reaches for the cup.

"Hang on, Nicky, it might be too hot. Let Mommy taste it first." The words slip out of her mouth almost of their own accord. She sounds … like a mother, and she feels like one when the little boy turns trusting eyes to her. She sips the warm, sweet liquid.

"Is it too hot?"

"It is. Let's blow on it." She draws him between her knees and he leans against her.

 _My first baby._

The thought arrives unbidden, along with a painfully pungent sense memory of the heated little weight of him in her arms as a newborn. She's cuddling him against swollen breasts, sniffing the top of his fragrant head, Derek's arm is around her, supporting both of them.

She closes her eyes briefly, and it disappears, this … memory, or whatever you call it. Because she never experienced it, and yet somehow … she has.

"Is it cool enough now, Mommy?"

"I think so." She smiles down at Nicky.

"Both hands," she reminds him, and he reaches up two little gloved hands carefully and takes the paper cup.

…

Choosing a tree with two small children offering conflicting ideas is challenging, but fast- and slow-paced in the best possible way. Once they're out in the field, vast rows of fragrant green trees, Nicky and Ellie dart from one to the next and back again, offering ideas, looping around so that their ultimate progress is snail-like.

"This one! This one!" Ellie takes one parent by each hand and drags them to a tiny mess of lopsided needles that clearly needs some more time in the earth before it becomes a Christmas tree.

 _Ellie tried to get us to buy a baby tree last year too. Derek thought she wanted it because it was small, like her._

The memory pops into her head and she holds it close, willing it not to leave.

"I think that tree still has some growing to do, sweetheart." Derek's tone is fond.

"I like it." Ellie's lower lip trembles.

Derek sweeps her up into his arms. "It's a great tree. It's just a little small for all the decorating we need to do … all the ornaments you and Nicky made … don't you think?" He buffs her cheek and she giggles, pushing at him.

"Scratchy," she protests.

He kisses her and then hoists her up to his shoulders. She crows with apparent delight to be the tallest in the family, knotting her gloved hands in his hair.

Addison reaches her hand out for Nicky as automatically as if she's always had a small son; he slips his into hers just as naturally.

 _Because you're someone else's. But I want you to be mine._

…

She's beginning to think they'll be there all day – and not minding the possibility at all – when they find it.

Just like that … they find it.

Hand in hand (in hand in hand), all four of them stare up at the douglas fir. Derek takes the group's temperature.

"Addie?"

"I love it," she says simply, because it's true.

"Yes, this one!" Ellie bounces up and down on her toes.

"How about you, Nickles?" Derek rests a hand on his son's head, tweaking the brown knitted ears of his bear-face hat.

"I think it's _perfect_ ," Nicky says gravely.

So that's the one they choose.

"Wait - we have to get the 'before,'" Derek says, fishing out a small camera from his pocket. She smiles because he always has to take a picture before they send the tree off to be bundled up for travel, posing the children in front of it.

 _Wait. How did I know that?_

However she knew it, she's right; Derek ushers Ellie and Nicky toward the tree and they obediently pose hand in hand in front of its fragrant needles, smiling happily with rosy cheeks and puffs of cold breath in the wintry air.

 _Click._ They're absolutely perfect. _Click._

And then Ellie pulls her mittened hand out of her brother's and gives him a shove.

"Hey, hey." Derek puts down his camera to intercede. "What was that for?"

"He squeezed my hand," Ellie whimpers, shooting her brother a wounded look.

"I was just _holding_ it!" Nicky protests, and Addison sees tears well up in his eyes. "For the picture!"

Addison rests a hand on his shoulder.

Derek is on his haunches between them. "Ellie, you don't push your brother. You know that, right?"

She nods, lower lip trembling.

"Tell him you're sorry," Derek instructs calmly.

"Sorry, Nicky," she whispers.

"Nick?" Derek turns to his son.

Nicky shrugs. "S'okay," he says affably, and Addison notices his eyes aren't teary anymore.

"Okay, good. Now. Who's ready to start cutting?"

Both children jump up and down with excitement, their squabble forgotten.

"Can I do the big saw? Daddy, can I?" Nicky tugs on Derek's coat, pointing at what looks like an enormous silver medieval torture device approaching in the gloved hand of one of the Christmas Tree Farm staff.

"Maybe in ten years, buddy." Derek tugs on one of the strings hanging from the little boy's hat. "Stand back, guys – Farmer Smith's friends are going to help us."

Addison crouches down instinctively, one arm around each of the children, something compelling her to watch the tree come down from their viewpoint closer to the ground. Derek doesn't seem surprised – could it be that the other Addison had the same inclination the previous year? – but he stands slightly in front of them and with his body at an angle, as if he's worried the flying sawdust could hurt them. The protective gesture touches her.

"It's coming, it's coming!" Nicky is bouncing up and down on his toes now. Ellie is covering her eyes with her mittened hands, occasionally peeking between them. Addison sees Derek snap a quick picture of the three of them. Her heart turns over. It's a digital camera, does that mean he's captured an image of her – here? With their children? Or does whatever brought her to this unreal universe mean it will be the _other_ Addison in the picture?

Or what if she can't be captured at all?

No, that's silly, she has a reflection. And she's not a vampire. She just starting to scold herself for her foolishness when, with a soft thump, a cheer breaks out from the children. Addison hugs them both to her sides impulsively, then stands up to clap along with Derek and other families watching from various tree posts.

"We have a Christmas tree!" Nicky's announcement sums up the family's excitement perfectly. And then there's a whole process, the tree carted off on the back of a truck and then the family riding on a hay bale –

 _Can we ride the thing? Mommy, can we?_ That's what Ellie asked her last night, and she's pretty sure from their gleeful faces now that this is in fact _the thing._ They ride back to the main visitors' area of the farm to watch the machine compress and wrap the tree, shrinking it down and netting it to protect it.

Finally, they secure it to the top of the car with bungee cords.

"That's our tree," Ellie beams, pointing at the roof. "Mommy, look."

"It sure is."

"Can we decorate it now?"

" _Now_ it's on top of the car, so … no," Derek teases gently. "But we can decorate it tomorrow, when Rachel can come over to help us."

 _Rachel._ Really, she needs a spreadsheet to keep up with everyone in this new world.

"You confirmed with Savvy, right?"

She realizes Derek is talking to her.

"Huh?"

"Tomorrow – you confirmed the time with Savvy?"

 _I hope so … but I have no freakin' clue._

"Yeah, I did," she lies as coolly as she can. Hopefully the real Addison, the one who belongs in this sunny world, took care of it.

"Good. I told Weiss we would leave the timing up to the two of you."

She smiles a little at this; it feels familiar. She and Savvy were always in charge of logistics, and _we just go where we're told,_ Weiss would laugh ruefully and he and Derek would roll their eyes. Savvy and Weiss – god, it's been a long time. And then she feels a rush of joy because she's actually going to see Savvy tomorrow. It's been _years_ since she's seen Savvy.

Derek is smiling too. "I think Weiss gets more excited for the tree than the kids do."

She remembers this; he always did. So Weiss is still Weiss, here.

"Even more so since they stopped having their own," Derek adds, "don't you think?"

Addison nods distractedly – they don't have their own tree? But they used to. Savvy planned to convert if they had kids, that's what she always said, but not until then.

 _If they had kids._

Suddenly, she realizes who Rachel must be and warmth floods through her body. The image of Savvy and Weiss, Derek and Addison squaring off in Seattle and arguing fades away. _They've been talking about kids, did you know that?_

In this world, Savvy and Weiss have a child. A child named Rachel. She used to fantasize about her children playing with Savvy's, long ago when they were dreamers, barely more than teenagers. They'd each have a little girl. _They'll be best friends, just like we are._ But it didn't happen. They were busy with other things, they were distracted, and … it never happened.

She's still thinking about this as they load the children back into the car; Addison now accustomed enough to Ellie's carseat that she hardly needs any help at all. The sun is already dipping toward the horizon as they set off from the farm, waving to the Smiths as they leave. It gets dark so early in December. That's one other thing that hasn't changed, at least…

"Who's hungry?"

"Me!" Both children yell from the backseat when Derek's question interrupts her thoughts. She smiles at how excited the children sound.

At the same time, she tries as subtly as she can to figure out where they're going. The farm isn't particularly close to her parents' estate, but if they're going to drive back along the coast they'll run into it on the way to the city anyway. Still, if the kids are hungry, they're going to have a while to wait. Maybe Derek is planning to take them out to eat. She can't ask, though, not if there's some traditional place they all go and she gives away her own ignorance of their shared family life.

"Daddy, is the tree cold on the roof?"

She presses her lips together so she doesn't laugh at the adorable question from the back seat. Thankfully, Derek handles it.

"No, buddy, the tree is used to being outside. It grew in the ground at the farm, remember?"

"Yeah."

With that, Derek turns on the Christmas music again, and then reaches for Addison's hand and rests it on his thigh like he used to. They used to drive this way for hours – he always started out saying they could take shifts, then he would change his mind. _You looked so peaceful,_ he would say. That was when they still took trips in the car together, and her hand tightens almost unconsciously on his leg now. _Why didn't we get here? Why did this Addison do it right, and I did it wrong?_

Maybe that's what she's supposed to figure out.

The children are quiet in the back seat, though Nicky occasionally reminds them he's hungry, and a sense of peace descends with the setting sun. She's half-dozing when she realizes that if they're going to her mother's house, they're taking a strange scenic route to get there, down a mid-state road miles from the arteries to the coast. And then, to her surprise, Derek flicks on his turn signal halfway down a rural road. There's an old fashioned mailbox at the start of the long driveway; she watches with interest as they inch up to a modest white clapboard house. There's a little red barn structure off to the right, patchy grass decorated with frost, and a wreath on the door.

"Bizzy's house!" Ellie cheers from the backseat and Addison is disconcerted.

 _This_ is where her mother lives in this universe? This house of startlingly modest proportions, in rural central Connecticut? That's … unexpected, to say the least. The light already feels low – it's winter on the east coast, her first in years, but rather than gloomy it feels almost cozy with pine tree sentries on either side of the driveway and the warm glow of lights emanating from several windows.

 _Cozy._ It's certainly not a word anyone would associate with her mother. This must be her country house, and Bizzy did tend to give the decorators slightly more leeway with her other properties.

And then she has no more time to think, because she's called upon to perform the finicky challenge of getting Ellie out of her carseat once again. Why is it harder than getting her _in_ , she's not sure. "That one first," Ellie whispers, pointing to a red button on the central bar.

"Thanks, El," she says gratefully. "You're a good helper," she adds, and the little girl beams.

 _Oh, if only you knew how much help I really needed._

She lifts her down from the car.

"Wait, guys-" Derek gathers both children close and huddling in the heat of the still-running engine, whisks off their puffy down coats and helps them into the stiff-looking formal coats Addison saw earlier. She has to admit that the children look adorable standing together in their matching outerwear – even if this elaborate costume change is odd, especially considering the casual, breathable, comfortable clothing she knows both children are wearing underneath the coats.

"It's itchy," Nicky protests.

"You just have to wear it for thirty seconds," Derek says. "And then you're free."

As soon as Derek steps aside, both children take off toward the front door, Ellie right on her brother's heels.

Addison watches them with fascination. They're … _excited._ She doesn't think she's ever been that eager to see her mother, but then again these sweet and happy children are probably too innocent, too loved, to realize how cold their grandmother is. She's not quite sure why this Addison is even talking to her mother. Something must be different. Perhaps they see Bizzy once a year, when they pick up their Christmas tree? Some sort of obligation because even this Addison can't quite shake the lingering Montgomery rules?

She glances sideways at Derek, who gives her a reassuring smile.

"You okay?"

His arm around her is warm and she lets him pull her against his side. It feels so good that she wants to pretend, for a moment, that this is really Derek and she's really _this_ Addison; longing floods her as she breathes in the clean soapy smell of his neck.

"Your nose is freezing," he teases her.

"Aren't you used to it by now?" The words slip out before she can stop them but he doesn't look surprised at all.

"You'd think," he says, and kisses the tip of it, making her smile.

 _You still take my breath away._

There it is, those words again. What are they from? A poem, a song? Why do they keep popping into her head?"

"Let's get inside where it's warm," Derek says against her hair.

If she had been drinking coffee in that moment she's certain it would end up all over this Addison's winter boots. _Warm?_ The Montgomery house was always cold enough for surgery, all the time. And not just emotionally, either.

She gives him an uncertain look as they reach the doorstep, where both children are waiting for them impatiently. Ellie is stamping her feet – presumably she's cold rather than angry – and Nicky is standing on his tiptoes, trying to reach what looks like an old fashioned doorknocker.

She can't ask, obviously.

The door knocker in the shape of a bear's head, she can see now. Both children are clamoring to reach it now and Addison watches as Derek, laughing, lifts one of them in each arm. They take turns lifting and dropping the heavy knocker, and Addison winces slightly.

If Bizzy does live here, which still seems improbable, she expects Nicky and Ellie are in for a lecture about rowdy behavior being confined to stables, and what happens to noisy children. She braces herself, ready to stand between them and her mother's sharp words.

Derek is still holding one child in each arm when the door swings open to reveal … the woman herself.

Bizzy looks all at once the same and different, the dichotomy Addison supposes shouldn't surprise her anymore in this world. She's not quite the Bizzy from the brownstone's closet, on the surface at least. This Bizzy's clothes are still exquisitely tailored, of course – no one can drape a scarf like Beatrice Forbes Montgomery, like the one resting on the shoulders of her cashmere sweater, but slightly more casual. The leather riding boots are ones she associates more with Bizzy's country house, but they're not unheard of either.

No, it's not the outfit that's really making the difference.

It's her face. Or rather, her expression. Bizzy is _smiling_ … looking for all the world like she's actually happy to see them.

And that alone would be strange enough. But what's even more shocking, what causes Addison to widen her eyes even after all she's seen in this new world, comes when the door opens wider – more specifically, when she sees whose hand her mother is holding with unmistakable affection and possessiveness.

* * *

 _To be continued (of course). And to those of you who requested more Addison/Derek interaction, Addison wants it too! And so do I. Expect more in the next chapter_


	7. Decorations

**A/N: Thank you so much** , for all the great response to this story and for putting up with Christmas tree shopping in July. This chapter is long, but I trimmed as much as I could and really felt I needed everything. I hope you'll enjoy!

* * *

 ** _Decorations_**

* * *

 _What's even more shocking, what causes Addison to widen her eyes even after all she's seen in this new world, comes when the door opens wider – more specifically, when she sees whose hand her mother is holding with unmistakable affection and possessiveness._

Addison stares. "…Mrs. _Walcott_?"

The older woman raises an nicely arched eyebrow, looking somewhat confused. "Well, that's a bit formal, but … it's nice to see you too, Addie."

"You know Addison and her little jokes," Bizzy intercedes coolly.

Addison is too busy staring to defend herself. Mrs. Walcott? She was a society wife of Addison's childhood, like Bizzy herself, but Addison hasn't seen her in years. No, not years … decades. She must have been thirty years younger the last time Addison saw her, but she seems to have aged with the same grace as Bizzy, her shining blonde hair neatly styled, her country-casual-chic garments perfectly fitted with flattering, classic tailoring.

 _Mrs. Walcott._ Addison tries to summon what she knows about her. All she can recall is that she served on all the same boards as Bizzy and her daughter, Pippa, was Addison's classmate starting from their first day of kindergarten at Shelton Girls' Preparatory.

She and Pippa weren't _friends_ , exactly, but their private school, like the country club, like the circles in which their families moved, was small. From the beginning, Pippa was one of the pretty girls, with perfect long blonde hair that never needed an iron to hang down silky straight, and naturally even teeth that would clearly never need braces, and normal-length legs that didn't require specially-ordered uniform skirts. But she was surprisingly nice, too, nice when she didn't need to be. Addison remembers Pippa was one of the few girls who'd choose her when she was field hockey captain instead of leaving her standing alone against the stone wall of the chapel pretending she was finishing her homework. She was a little disappointed when Pippa moved away so quickly in fifth grade. Addison didn't even know; one day she was there, then the next she was gone. To Chicago. Or … was it Dallas? People whispered for a few days and then Hollis Whitney was the first to get her period and interest shifted with lightning speed.

 _Pippa Walcott_. Addison hasn't thought about her in years; their circles never crossed again. But what is nice, blonde, moved-away-without-warning Pippa's mother doing here in Connecticut … holding hands with Addison's mother?

There's no time to ponder, not with two eager little children.

"Grandma!" Ellie yells with delight and then Addison is even more shocked. The woman who wouldn't let her own children call her mother is _Grandma?_

But Ellie jumps into the waiting arms of not Bizzy, but Mrs. Walcott, who scoops her up and kisses her. "Oh, look at those pink cheeks, darling, it must have been cold at the farm!"

Addison just blinks, trying to make sense of this world.

Mrs. Walcott has set Ellie down and is showering affection on Nicky now; the children clearly know and adore her and …

…and Addison is, as she has been more or less unceasingly since she pushed open the door to this world last night, very confused.

Bizzy, though. Bizzy is still Bizzy, at least somewhat. Addison watches as her mother extends a hand to pat Ellie's head with what looks like borderline affection, or at least not disgust, but then Bizzy frowns.

"Ellie, dear … why is there a rodent on your head?"

Addison winces, but Ellie seems to find this hysterically funny. Between giggles she manages to get out an explanation: "It's a _bunny,_ Bizzy! You're silly!"

Addison can't help inhaling sharply; surely this is the first time in Beatrice Forbes Montgomery's life someone has called her _silly._

"A 'bunny,'" Bizzy repeats as if it's a new word to her. "Thank you for clearing that up. Why are you wearing a bunny on your head, then?"

"My bunny keeps my ears warm," Ellie says happily, "so they don't get cold. You wanna try?" She pulls the hat off and holds it out to Bizzy, beaming.

"That won't be necessary, dear, I believe you," Bizzy says hastily.

Addison is relieved – if somewhat surprised – to see that Ellie seems utterly undisturbed by Bizzy's critiques. The little girl is fondling the wool bunny-hat lovingly and smiling up at her grandmother – grandmothers? – without the slightest trace of hurt.

"Nicholas," Bizzy says in apparent greeting, but before she can comment further Nicky pulls off his own hat.

"Mine's a bear, see, Bizzy? _Rrraaaawwr!_ " And he growls loudly enough that Ellie jumps, then starts giggling again. Nicky does it again, holding up his little brown knitted hat as if it's the bear whose roar is echoing through the front hall.

Addison waits for her mother to scold him, but she actually looks almost – amused?

"My, how … lifelike." Bizzy glances at Addison and Derek. "Roaring millinery. The world has certainly changed since I raised my children."

 _This isn't the world! It's …_

But she doesn't know what it is, so she just smiles weakly as Bizzy stands between a giggling Ellie and a roaring Nick and says, mildly, "it seems the farm wasn't sufficient for burning off energy after all."

"Bizzy," Mrs. Walcott – Grandma – whatever her name is – reproves gently, smiling down at the children. "They're excited. As well they should be, because it's almost Christmas, isn't it, children?"

Nick and Ellie both cheer at this reminder, waving their animal-face hats pennant-style.

"Now. Come with Grandma," Mrs. Walcott says, "and we'll burn off of that wonderful energy preparing the table."

"I want to do the napkins!" Nicky turns and thrusts his hat at Addison, and Ellie follows in his footsteps. Addison barely has time to divest them of their little coats before they're chasing Mrs. Walcott down the hall, laughing merrily.

"She does spoil them," Bizzy sighs, but at least there's no malice in her tone. She holds out her hands and Addison, hoping she's not missing an alternate-universe signal, hands over the two navy dress coats and two animal hats.

"You've been known to send some pretty exorbitant gifts yourself, Bizzy," Derek comments mildly.

"Mm. And you'll even make the children wear them, if only for the walk from the car."

Addison presses her lips together. So this Bizzy, like the real one, apparently can see _everything._

"We didn't want to get sap on that beautiful fabric," Derek explains smoothly. "They're still a little young and messy for such … fancy things."

"Are they? Addison always kept her things nicely as a child," Bizzy reminisces.

Addison decides now isn't the time to tell her mother it was because of how much she feared reprisal if she didn't. The one time the Captain actually did take her for ice cream, instead of just using it as a cover for one of his many dalliances, she refused the cone she desperately wanted because she was afraid the sticky sweet would drip onto her dress. She wasn't much older than Nicky that day, but she remembers feeling certain that the mess would be at least as bad as letting her mother know what her father was really doing.

"Addie?" Derek touches her arm lightly and she refocuses.

"Sorry," she says quickly. He's looking at her with concern and she reminds herself to straighten up before the loving, attentive Derek of this universe decides she's showing signs of a stroke or something. All she needs is an MRI that will reveal how bizarre her life has actually become.

Bizzy is studying her carefully and Addison has to refrain from asking the question that's threatening to burst from her lips:

 _Excuse me, are you my spirit guide?_

Yeah, there's just no way to make that doozy of a question polite enough for Bizzy. She has to content herself with meeting her mother's eyes and searching for signs herself.

"Addison, dear," Bizzy says abruptly, "would you come help me in the kitchen?"

Bizzy, in the kitchen? Oh god, her mother cooks in this universe too? Between Derek, Addison's apparent but unseen skills, and now Bizzy, Addison wouldn't be surprised if it turned out her children catered weddings on the side. She tosses a desperate glance at Derek – all she needs is to be thrown into the kitchen with a Bizzy who expects her to know how to handle puff pastry – and he closes his hand around her upper arm, his touch reassuring.

"Actually, I need to borrow her first," Derek says apologetically to Bizzy, "do you mind?"

His request is perfectly polite. Sincere. Or it sounds that way, and Addison knows Bizzy can't exactly refuse.

"Of course, dear. Join me when you can."

She lifts an eyebrow in Addison's direction.

 _Spirit guide, that was totally a spirit guide move!_

…maybe. It's not like she has a lot of experience in the area.

Meanwhile, Derek is steering her toward a large, open living room with overstuffed furniture, built in bookshelves, and a twelve-foot tree.

Bizzy's trees were famous among her circle, and this one is no –

Wait, this one is a _definite_ exception. This is one of the strangest things she's seen yet.

"It's decorated," she says with shock. What she means is that there are actual … _ornaments_ on it, not just perfectly symmetrical white and silver balls of glass interspersed with intricate antique figurines that got small hands slapped if they tried to touch their delicate surfaces.

Derek looks confused. "Of course it is, Addie … we were all here a few weeks ago decorating."

"I know that," she says hastily, hoping he can't see her blushing, "I just meant, uh,that it looks great."

"Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

He lifts his palm to cup her cheek and she can't help turning her face into it a little. Screw the guilt that he thinks he's comforting his real wife, not her doppelganger, because it feels good. It feels … _real._

"I'm fine, honey." She smiles as reassuringly as she can. "Really. I'm just a little tired."

"Understandably." He drops his hand to her shoulder, starting a comforting massage. God, his hands are incredible … in every universe, apparently. It's taking every effort not to purr like a kitten.

"Is your mother getting to you?"

She's not sure how to answer his gentle question. Not as this Addison, anyway. Her mother does nothing _but_ get to Addison; her whole life, the colder Bizzy's regard for her, the more desperately Addison tried. No wonder she was so …

 _Oh._ And then it clicks. _No wonder she was so screwed up._

If this Bizzy is different – if this Bizzy is _better_ – then maybe that's why this Addison is better too.

"Addie?"

"I was just thinking of something," she says quickly.

"What?"

She realizes too late what a terrible excuse that was. She's too used to being ignored; of course this Derek would follow up. And she has no idea what to say. No idea what to do … except what used to work on her Derek.

"This," she says simply, and she closes the space between them and captures his lips with hers.

He kisses her back, his free hand coming to rest on her hip and pulling her closer while her own hands slide into his hair.

Then he pulls back for a moment. "You're trying to distract me," he says knowingly, his voice husky, "and don't think I don't know your tricks."

His tone is going straight to her belly and igniting heat further south.

 _I'm turned on by a made-up version of my ex-husband in my mother's weird lesbian farmhouse. What the hell is wrong with me?_

Whatever's wrong with her compels her to lower her eyes and let lust take over as she murmurs her response. "I have tricks you've never seen."

It works, based on how he yanks her back against his body, and then he's kissing her with more passion than she's felt in far too long to count, and they're entwined in front of the tree, it smells like fir and Christmas and she's-

"What are you doing?"

Addison jumps away from Derek, startled and guilty, sliding the back of her hand across her mouth. Nicky is standing in the open doorway, watching his parents with interest.

 _Oh my god, less than twenty-four hours in this universe and I've already corrupted a child._

Derek seems perfectly calm; she gives him a shaky smile, hoping he'll handle this.

"We're just talking, Nickles." Derek smiles reassuringly at the little boy.

" _And_ hugging."

"And hugging," Derek agrees, his arm firm around Addison's waist. "Mommy and Daddy like to hug sometimes. Were you looking for us, buddy? What happened to setting the table?"

"I _was_ helping," Nicky says with enough defensiveness that Addison assumes there's a story there. "But Bizzy said she needs to talk to Mommy and I should go find her."

"Oh."

Nick turns to his mother. "Bizzy needs you, Mommy," he repeats.

"Oh, but I need you too," Derek whispers into her hair so only she can hear him, and she feels a hot flush in her cheeks.

"Thank you, Nicky," she says quickly, "can you, um, can you tell Bizzy I'll be there in a minute?"

"Okay." The little boy ambles out of the room, tousled dark curls bouncing with his steps, and Addison turns to Derek, laughing with embarrassment and relief.

"Sorry," she says, wincing.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he assures her, and then he pulls her close again.

She rests both hands against his chest, half caress and half boundary. "Derek. We're in my mother's house."

"So?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Is this reminding you of high school?"

"What? No. Definitely not." _Did this Addison live here in high school? But that doesn't make any sense …_

"Good." He grins and then she feels the warm pressure of his lips against the side of her neck – this Derek knows exactly where she's the most sensitive, and this is wrong, it's so wrong, but –

"Wait, stop," she says quickly, pushing him back.

"Now _that_ reminds me of high school," he responds mournfully and she can't help smiling.

"I should … I mean, Bizzy needs me," she explains.

"Addie." He holds onto her when she tries to pull away. "You know you don't have to jump when Bizzy calls."

 _Right, I have to say 'how high?' first._

"I don't?"

Derek looks worried again. He releases her only to put both hands on her shoulders and wait for her to meet his gaze. "She's really getting to you today, huh."

"No, I just …" Her voice trails off.

"We can leave, Addie, we can go any time. We don't have to stay."

"We don't?"

"Of course not. Not if she's getting to you. You know that."

 _You don't ever have to stay here, Addison, I promise, not if she's upsetting you._ That's what he said to her once. They were young and he was protective. Protective and so sweet.

"You don't ever have to stay here, Addison, I promise, not if she's upsetting you."

She blinks. "That's what you – what you said before."

His brow furrows.

"I mean – you just – "

 _So you and my Derek were alike, once. Before you … diverged._

She smiles gratefully, trying to explain herself. "I mean ... I appreciate it, Derek. I really do. But it's okay. I'm just tired, like I said. And-" She takes a chance. "Now I'm a little … frustrated, too."

He smiles back, lifting an eyebrow.

"I'm going to go see what Bizzy wants, okay? I'm sure it's fine."

He nods, and leaves a brief kiss on her lips before he releases her shoulders.

"Wait, Addison-"

She turns around when he calls her name.

" _Frustration_ is bad for blood pressure, you know."

She props a hand on her hip, amused. "Oh, really?"

"Really," he says, his tone serious. "So let's make sure we … take care of that tonight, okay?"

 _Oh god, now what have I done?_

She braces herself. It's fine. She'll figure out a way out of it later.

Not that she doesn't want it – she wants it a little too much more than she can admit without losing what's left of her dignity, in fact – but it's not right, it wouldn't be fair to Derek, and…

And has the same look of lust in his eyes that her Derek would get, their color actually changing, and she doesn't have the self-control for this.

"Okay," she chokes out quickly, then turns and walks as fast as she can into the …

… bathroom.

Right. She has no idea where the kitchen is. Or anything else in this house.

She uses the facilities, if only because she's fascinated by the hunk of red-and-pink soap in a little marble dish; there are actual rose petals inside it, when she looks closely, and it's about as far from Bizzy's style as you can get.

The marble dish, not so much.

In fact, the whole bathroom looks like a clash of two styles: hearty terrycloth towels with richly absorbent fibers instead of the dainty, don't-you-dare-touch ones she remembers from her youth, but the delicately carved pine ringing the wall mirror is pure Bizzy.

 _Bizzy_ , who is still looking for her. Right.

Drying her hands on the soft, anti-Bizzy towel, she hastens to pat down her hair before her mother can criticize its tendency to fly away, and then makes her way out the door right into –

"Bizzy!"

"Really, Addison," her mother says with dignity once Addison has stepped back off her feet and sputtered a hasty apology. "You're not a bull and I am certainly not a china shop."

"Sorry! I didn't see you, and I was just –" She narrows her eyes. "How did you know I was in there?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"You answered me with a question," Addison points out, "so that's not an answer, it's a question."

"Addison, dear," Bizzy says with clearly waning patience, "if you want to be Alice in Wonderland you'll need to find someone else to play the Mad Hatter. I need to get back to the kitchen. I thought you might be coming to help me."

"I was," she says hastily. "I was just-"

"Yes, Nicholas told me what you were _just_ doing."

Is that a _twinkle_ in Bizzy's eyes?

"Regardless of your … antics, dear, I'd appreciate it if you could join me in the kitchen."

"Sure." She's still blushing, cursing the fair skin that doesn't hide any emotion.

Bizzy won't give an inch. _So that's the same in every universe._

She waits until they're both in a large, open farmhouse-style kitchen, with windows that must drink in the sun when it's not December, to take a chance.

"I was in the bathroom, Bizzy," she says tentatively, "because I was looking for the kitchen."

"Well, dear, all you had to do is ask."

"But I should know where the kitchen is," Addison says softly, "because I was just here a few weeks ago decorating the Christmas tree."

"Were you?" Bizzy's back is to her; Addison can't see her face.

"No, I wasn't," Addison whispers. "But you know that already, don't you? Bizzy … please …"

"Don't beg _,_ dear, it's so unfortunate." Bizzy turns around and props a hand on her hip. "Now are you going to help me, or not?"

"I don't know. Are you going to help _me_?"

"Addison…"

"Bizzy," she says firmly, "I'm not carving duck or plating asparagus or whatever else you wanted me to do if you don't give me _something_ here, for god's sake, this is completely insane, I have no clue-"

"Thea," Bizzy says unexpectedly, cutting her off.

"What?" Addison is a little breathless. She tucks her hair behind her ears. "Thea? What does that mean? Is that more code?"

"It's not code, it's her name."

"Her name. Whose name?"

Bizzy lifts an eyebrow.

"Mrs. Walcott," Addison fills in slowly, realizing what she means. "Thea. That's what she was expecting me to call her." It rings a bell. _Althea Walcott,_ that was her name. She glances at her mother. "My children – I mean, the children – they call her Grandma."

"Yes."

"So she's been around them, I mean, um, for a while at least, and so I guess I'm wondering if that means, or what it means, because … "

"Addison, if you have a question, please speak up and stop mumbling."

"How long have you been a lesbian?"

"Well." Bizzy takes a moment to adjust her scarf, which doesn't need adjusting – it's perfect, as always. "Don't hold back, dear."

Addison doesn't say anything.

"Thea and I have been together … for more than thirty years," Bizzy says simply.

" _Thirty –_ What? That's not possible." Addison shakes her head. "No, they – the Walcotts moved away, when I was ten or eleven. I assumed you just reconnected with her later."

Bizzy is looking at her, but she doesn't respond.

"Thirty years," Addison breathes. "What about the Captain? Who is he in all this?"

Bizzy's face softens. "He is my … friend. My very dear friend."

"But he's – but he's – "

"Yes, he's still your father," Bizzy says mildly. "You didn't get that … _dramatic_ jawline from the Forbes side, dear."

Addison winces.

"He's your friend," Addison repeats. "But you're divorced."

"Yes."

"And you're with Mrs. – I mean with Thea." She pauses. "Are you married?"

"In Massachusetts."

It's too much. She's almost giddy with confusion. "Did you have a big gay wedding? And did you invite me?"

"Really, Addison." Bizzy looks like she's trying to be offended but her mouth is twitching with something like amusement. "We had a _lovely_ gay wedding … and yes, we did invite you. Your manners were marginally better at the time," she adds, "or we might have reconsidered your invitation."

"Is Archer okay?" The words tear out of her suddenly with no preamble but Bizzy doesn't look surprised.

"Archer is fine."

"Is he … is he coming today?"

"Archer and his wife are living in London."

"His _what_?"

"His wife, Addison. For a married woman, you certainly seem to be finding it challenging to comprehend a very simple concept."

"I am finding it _challenging_ ," she says with dignity, "to comprehend that my mother married another woman from the garden club who disappeared from Connecticut in 1976 and I am finding it challenging to comprehend that my playboy brother married _anyone._ Wait." She pauses. "Is the Captain married too?"

"The Captain is … enjoying his youth," Bizzy says.

"He's seventy-two."

"Recapturing his youth, then," Bizzy corrects. She studies Addison's face for a moment. "He's not alone, dear, if that's what you mean."

"And neither are you," Addison says softly.

"And neither am I."

Before she can ask another question, a framed picture on the wooden butcher block catches her eye; she lifts it for a closer look. It's a simple group snapshot faded from the sun and already treated with the autumnal glow of photographs from the 1970s. But despite the damage of time the captured faces are clear.

There's Addison with the long hair she would stubbornly iron into submission, wearing a dress that would be a shirt today, and Archer, with the beginning of some impressive teenaged mutton chops, and Bizzy, looking … pretty much the same, just younger and smoother. Bizzy always transcended trends. They're clustered in a garden – not the intricately landscaped one on the Montgomery estate, but something wild and overgrown with fat tomatoes dangling from haphazard vines. She can almost smell the basil when she looks at it, mixed with honeysuckle into the heady scent of summertime.

They're not alone in the photograph. Next to Bizzy, arm around her shoulders, is a younger version of Thea, long hair parted in the middle like her daughter's. And the other teenager – that's Pippa, Thea's daughter, an older version of the girl Addison remembers with the same perfect straight blonde locks, smiling with her head tilted toward Addison's like they're sharing a secret.

All five of them are smiling, in fact.

"We … um, did we live together?" Addison sets the picture back down and glances at Bizzy.

Bizzy nods.

"I'm young there, I'm – " Addison stares at the frame in her white-knuckled hand, at the red-headed teenager in the wild green garden. "I'm fourteen or fifteen. We were all – we were a family?"

Bizzy nods again.

"I know you want to understand," her mother begins. "But there are things I need to-"

"No. I mean, yes, but first I have a question." Addison exhales carefully. "We look … happy. Were we? Were we happy, here?" She's pointing at the picture but she means something more than that even if she's not sure exactly what, even if the word _we_ is ambiguous, but her mother seems to understand.

"Yes, Addison," Bizzy says quietly. "We were happy."

"Okay." Addison takes a deep, thick-throated breath. She won't cry, not when she has so much to learn. "Okay, now I'm ready. Tell me the rest."

* * *

 _To be continued. All of you who guessed it was Susan, it was a great guess and I hope you're not too disappointed. The reasons why it's not should become clear, but I know I teased you with a false cliff - or should I say, Addison really was shocked but she knows more people than we do. I'll explain more about my choices soon, but I hope you'll stick around for the ride. Thanks to **birdieq,** whose child characters crack me up and were in my head a bit when Nicky and Ellie were teasing Bizzy! As always, thank you for your support and being beautiful and awesome. Pretty please keep it up and review! _


	8. Instincts and Interruptions

**A/N:** I can't believe I haven't updated in more than a week. I'm sorry, and I am so grateful for your beautiful reviews and so thrilled you are enjoying this weird little Christmas story in July (well, August now). Thank you for continuing to be interested, continuing to read, and continuing to share your lovely thoughts with me. I know I have a ton of other stories in progress to update, and I will, but ... as they say, the journey of a thousand fics starts with one chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

 _Instincts and Interruptions_

* * *

Bizzy looks at her with an expression Addison can't identify. " _The rest._ That's rather broad, dear. What do you want to know?"

"What do I want to …" She pauses, knowing that it won't help to get frustrated. _Everything,_ that's what she wants to know, isn't it obvious? "You're married to Mrs. – to Thea," she prompts as patiently as she can.

Bizzy nods.

"And that means that I'm … that I'm here, in this world … because you did that?"

Her mother is stirring what looks like lemonade in a crystal pitcher. "It's not quite that simple, dear."

"But it's part of it?" she presses.

"One might say everything is part of everything else."

Why does this version of Bizzy have to speak in riddles all the time?

"Bizzy." Addison takes a deep breath. "This – I mean, all of this – it's my … dream, right?"

"It's not a dream."

"Fine," she says impatiently, "I just mean … it's _my_ ... whatever-it-is _._ But _you're_ different here too."

Bizzy doesn't respond.

"You're happy here," she says slowly, "and we were all happy, too, you said. But if you needed to be happy first, before I could, then how am _I_ supposed to change things?"

Her mother looks almost sympathetic for a brief moment, and then parts her lips to respond.

And then they're interrupted.

"Bizzy?" Thea's voice calls out from the open doorway. Addison jumps like she's been doing something wrong. "The children are hungry," she continues lightly, smiling at both of them.

"We'll be there in a moment, dear," Bizzy responds.

And then her mother turns to Addison with a finality that makes her nervous.

"No," Addison says quickly. "No, we can't eat yet, I … I have so many more questions."

Her mother doesn't respond, just place a red-checked cloth over a basket of rolls that look homemade.

"Did you bake those?"

"Is that one of your questions?" Bizzy raises an eyebrow. "And no, I didn't. I'm _happy_ , as you said. Not insane."

Addison can't help smiling a little bit. "Bizzy … is it true that I'm … that I'm here to do something?"

Her mother nods very slightly.

"But you won't tell me what."

"You have to figure it out." Her mother holds out the basket of warm rolls, their scent homey and delicious. "Would you mind bringing this into the other room, dear?"

"I have to figure it out," she repeats, reaching distractedly for the basket. "But … that's too hard."

"Life is hard, Addison," her mother says archly. "Now please carry that dish to the dining room before the bread goes stale."

…

Lunch is surprisingly uneventful – though perhaps everything would seem uneventful after being launched into a brand new life. Addison is trying to get Bizzy alone again to ask more questions when Derek finds them in the kitchen. He's holding Ellie, who's whimpering audibly.

"Somebody missed you," he says. Derek smiles at Addison, passing the teary toddler into her arms.

"Hey, sweetheart." Addison cups the back of her silky head and rocks her as Ellie clings with arms and legs and whimpers softly into her shoulder. Instinctually she moves through the kitchen and into the hallway, starting to pace slowly the way she used to when Ellie was a baby and-

Wait.

She wasn't there when Ellie was a baby. Except that the memory is sliding into place soft and pastel like the nursery must have been, muted hues and soft, tuneless background lullabies. She's walking up and down thick carpeting, patting a small heaving back, soothing her into sleep.

It must be true because Ellie calms down, stops whimpering and just burrows deeper into her mother.

 _Instinct_.

What was that her Derek said once, when they were married? About instinct.

That's right – he said _motherhood is instinct, Addie, don't worry._ She must have been complaining about her own mother, that she had no idea what to do after the way her mother raised – or didn't raise – Addison and Archer. _You're so great with kids,_ he said, _look how my sisters' kids all love you._ She loved them back and she told him that and he just smiled at her, she remembers this now, pressed his lips to the top of her head, and said _you're going to be an amazing mother,_ and fear curdled in her stomach with a hundred painful memories and she changed the subject, trying not to see the disappointment in his eyes.

 _Instinct._

She holds the little girl closer in her arms, feeling her calmer breathing against her neck. "You feeling better, El?"

She nods.

"Good. Let's go find the boys, hm?"

She carries Ellie into the comfortable-looking family room – Bizzy Montgomery with a 'family room,' she half-wishes she could call Archer to crow about it. There they find Nicky, Derek, and Thea all cross-legged on the carpet working together over a complicated puzzle.

"Me too?" Ellie asks hopefully.

"Of course," Derek says.

"She's too little," Nicky scoffs and Ellie pouts in response.

"She's not too little," Derek says firmly, but he smiles as he ruffles Nick's hair. "She's just the right size and so are you." He holds out his arms to Ellie, who settles in his lap and reaches immediately for one of the shiny pieces.

"What will this be? When it's finished, I mean."

"Christmas," Nicky says. "See?" And he points to the cover of the box. Addison sees the final version of the puzzle: a warmly lit cottage draped in holly, and, in the corner, just a hint of reindeer approaching from the starry sky.

"Santa," Ellie says happily, pointing.

"Santa's not there," Nicky says. "Just the hoofs, that's all."

"He _is_ there," Ellie insists. "Right, Mommy?"

Ellie's pointing to the carpet now beyond the picture of the finished puzzle. _Just because you can't see something, doesn't mean it's not there._

"The hooves are Santa's reindeers," she says slowly, and both children nod, "so yes, I think Santa's just outside the picture."

They both seem satisfied by this.

She feels a tugging on her sleeve; it's Nicky.

"Santa's coming soon," he whispers to her.

His dark curls are so soft, she can't help ruffling them before she touches his smooth pink cheek. "He sure is," she whispers back and Nick beams, settling back on his knees.

…

She tries one more time to catch Bizzy alone, but she's unsuccessful, and then Nicky is yawning and Ellie is half-asleep on the puzzle and Addison is swept along in goodbyes and thank-yous and packing the car.

The temperature has dropped and she holds her sleepy daughter close against the wind, the little bunny ears of her woolen hat a bit scratchy against Addison's neck. She turns at the sound of the keys jingling in Derek's hand.

"I can drive," she offers.

"Theoretically, sure," he counters, smiling at her, just like her Derek used to. When they'd tease each other, when they'd take driving trips.

"Good job," a sleepy Ellie whispers when she buckles her into her carseat with minimal instruction, and Addison can't help smiling.

Within a few miles both children are sleeping, the car peaceful and warm with just the buzz of the heaters. She studies Derek's hands on the wheel.

"Addie … remember how quiet the car used to be, before the kids?"

 _You wouldn't believe how quiet my memories are. Full on silence._

She responds out loud in the affirmative.

"I almost want to wake them up to play with them," she can hear the smile in his voice.

 _He used to say that when they were babies and I'd pretend to be upset with him because they'd just gone down for naps, but I loved how much he wanted to be with them._

She starts a little as another memory floods her.

"You okay, Addie?"

"Yeah."

"Did Bizzy say something to you, before?" He's speaking quietly. "When you were talking…"

"Um, not really." She fiddles with the leather armrest on the door, rubbing the tiny stitches.

 _Nothing I could ever repeat without ending up committed, anyway._

He doesn't press her further, just rests a warm hand on her thigh for a moment, somehow communicating as much as words would. They're driving straight down the parkway, the rhythmic glare and darkness as minimal lighting passes them by lulling her toward sleep.

…

"You're not going to try to carry all three of them into the house, are you?"

She starts awake to feel a gust of cold wind and see Derek and Mark both standing outside the open car.

 _Mark._

What is he doing there?

"He's helping me bring in the tree, Addie, who else would do it?" Derek asks lightly, and Addison realizes she must have asked her question out loud. The freezing air wakes her up enough to stumble out of the car, and she's careful to avoid Mark as she opens the back door to retrieve her daughter.

Derek is holding Nicky in his arms, and Addison successfully unlatches the carseat without instructions from a heavily sleeping Ellie – _thank you, Bizzy, or Ellie, or magic or whoever kept me from giving myself away there_ and they carry both children inside. Addison follows Derek's lead and sets them on the big, soft couch in the living room.

"Let me help Mark with the tree, and then we can get them upstairs."

"Of course," she says as if she's been here every Christmas

He kisses her before he heads out again and she sits down slowly between their sleeping children, automatically resting each hand on one warm little body.

…

She stays on the couch, breathing in the piney scent – _Christmas_ , that's what it smells like – while Derek and Mark carry the tree into the house toward the family room, laughing a little and jostling each other in a way that reminds her what their friendship used to be like _before._

When they've successfully set it up – she helps, filling the stand with water and taking Derek's side when they argue good-naturedly over whether it's straight – Mark heads to the bathroom to wash the sap off his hands and Derek lifts one sleeping child in each arm to head upstairs.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help?"

"I've got them." He smiles at her. "Can you bring El's special cup upstairs, though? You know if she wakes up without water she'll let us have it."

"Of course," she stammers, and then proceeds to stand in front of one of the many cabinets in the kitchen, staring at what must be twenty toddler-sized sippy cups.

Her special cup … her special cup …

Carefully, she moves a yellow cup with the letter _N_ in script – that must be Nicky's, or it was his when he needed toddler cups, anyway. There's no _E_ cup but she does see a pink cup with a white rabbit on it. Ellie likes bunnies, isn't that right? She reaches tentatively for the cup, then draws her hand back. If she picks the wrong one…

"It's the red one with the reindeer on it."

She jumps, not realizing Mark followed her into the kitchen. _Damn it_.

He's looking at her curiously.

"I know that," she responds quickly, grabbing the cup he described and hoping she doesn't sound too defensive.

Mark just looks at her, leaning casually on the kitchen island like he belongs there. Although she supposes he belongs there more than she does.

"You know, you're acting kind of weird, Addison."

"Just … stay away from me," she says immediately, and a look of hurt and surprise crosses Mark's face.

"You want me to stay away from you," he repeats doubtfully.

"Yes. I do." She glances uncertainly through the open kitchen archway. Derek is still upstairs, right?

"So you want to cancel tomorrow?" Mark sounds disappointed.

 _Yes, yes, yes._

But … no. She doesn't want to cancel because she needs to talk to him. She needs to figure out what's going on here. She needs to understand how to fix her mistakes.

Squaring her shoulders, she asks: "Will we be able to talk tomorrow – in private, I mean?"

"Of course."

"We'll be … alone?"

"Of course," he repeats slowly. "Why are you acting like you've never done this before?"

His words curdle in her stomach. "Then no, I don't want to cancel."

"Addison." He takes a step forward. "Listen, if this is-"

"I have to go, Mark," she says quickly. "And so do you. I'll just – I'll just see you in the morning."

She leans against the banister, heart pounding, until she hears the door close behind him. _It's a mistake, it's a misunderstanding, this Addison would never do it, never, she wouldn't hurt her family like that._

Would she?

"Addison?"

It's Derek calling her, soft voice beckoning from the upstairs landing, and with one more plea to the better version of herself she heads toward her husband.

…

"You're seeing Savvy in the morning for Pilates, right?"

She glances at Derek, lying next to her in bed in that soft blue shirt that brings out his eyes. They used to go over the next day like this, when they still went to bed around the same time, she remembers. Planning out their time together and apart. This question confuses her, though. Savvy hated Pilates with a passion. She used to say thirty bucks a class to lie on her back and stare at the ceiling was yuppie nonsense.

But then she remembers it's just an excuse. Of course. Because she's lying to Derek so she can meet Mark.

"Yes," she says quickly. "Um, I'm meeting … her, at nine-thirty."

"You're going to have a very Savvy day tomorrow," he teases her gently, "since they're coming over with the kids to decorate the tree later on."

"You know me, I can't get enough of Savvy," she says weakly, which makes him smile and doesn't seem to raise suspicion, thank god.

"Yeah?" He props himself up on his elbow, his free hand touching her face gently before starting to move down her side, coming to rest on her hip. "Well, I can't get enough of you."

Her cheeks flush a little. It feels somehow like a first date, like their first time – which is silly, since he's her husband of eleven years, her partner of far longer than that.

But he's also someone else entirely.

And this … maybe it's not fair, to him, because he's not so different in this universe that she doesn't recognize the intent in his blue eyes, the way his smile quirks up higher on one side, the way he's looking at her like she's the only woman in the world.

Hungrily, that's how he used to look at her. Lovingly … and hungrily.

 _God, I missed this more than I realized._

She responds before she can stop herself, curling into his warmer body and sighing against him when he starts to place gentle kisses on her shoulder. He's moving slowly, tenderly …

 _Because he thinks you're his wife, he thinks you're the mother of his children, he doesn't know you're faking._

… and he's _her_ Derek too, and the other one, all at once, because his hands feel so familiar it's like he never stopped touching her. He smiles at her before he captures her lips and there's so much affection there, so much history, that she thinks she might cry.

He's supported over her on his elbows now, the way his body is pressing against hers exactly the way she remembers and loved, enough of his weight on her to be comforting and not enough to be uncomfortable.

It's just right.

His hands are on either side of her head, stroking her hair, her temples, like they used to. And his kisses are leaving her breathless, like they used to.

And then suddenly there are those words again.

 _You still take my breath away._

Why do they keep popping into her mind? She tries to summon context for them but she can't. If she strains like she's trying to solve a particularly complex equation she can grab the slightest bit of sense memory, almost like the edges of a dream. Music. She hears music, but it's faint, and then that too disappears.

 _Because you're not real. Because this isn't real._

"What's wrong, Addie?"

He must have felt her tense underneath him. He was also so attuned to her moods, to changes in her demeanor, to _her_. Well. Until he wasn't, anyway.

But now he's totally focused on her, warm concern reflecting in his eyes, and guilt floods her.

"Derek, I'm … I'm so sorry."

"For what?" He strokes her cheek softly with one hand, smiling down at her in a way he hasn't for years but that's so familiar it's almost painful. His touch is so soothing she almost gives in, but … no. It wouldn't be fair to him. It's wrong.

"I can't. I mean, not yet. I … have to tell you something first." She takes a deep breath, willing this not to ruin everything. But his body against hers, the intent in his eyes – she has to be honest.

She has to tell him.

"Derek, I need you to know that … um, that I'm not the woman you married."

He brushes her hair back with soothing fingers. "I know," he says gently.

* * *

 _To be continued, and I swear it won't be as crazy long a gap as last time. Forgive me for waiting so long to update? Leave me a review and let me know. I love reviews like Addison and Derek love Christmas and like Ellie loves giving carseat instructions. Thank you, as always, for being the best readers ever!_


	9. Belonging

I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated this story! Meatspace is more hectic these days, so I don't have the luxury of updating whenever I want to (because believe me, I always want to update!). Thank you for sticking with this story, and me, and still loving Addek after all these years as much as I do!

* * *

 _ **Belonging**_

* * *

She freezes, her voice coming out as a squeak. "You _know_?"

He smiles at her. "I know."

"How … "

"It's pretty obvious. Isn't it?"

She returns his smile weakly. So much for her Oscar-worthy performance, so much for Bizzy's supposedly helpful tips, so much for _instinct._

Derek looks pensive for a moment. "I guess the main giveaway is your hair."

"My hair?"

Does that mean she arrived in this universe with shorter hair than the Addison who used to sleep in this bed? Isn't that something the spirit-guide version of Bizzy could have fixed – especially considering her feelings on Addison's shorter haircut?

Derek nods. "Your hair. Or more specifically … the lack of those – feathered little bangs."

He brushes her forehead with his fingertips.

"Feathered bangs?" She's confused. "I haven't had those since nineteen…"

... ninety-four.

 _Oh._

She looks at Derek's twinkling blue eyes. "Just to be clear … I prefer you to the woman I married," he adds, and then his eyes change, looking concerned.

He must have noticed the tears in hers.

Swiftly she pushes the emotion down. "My hair has definitely improved … but I think yours improved more," she teases him.

"All thanks to you. You took me to that salon."

"You balked."

"I balked," he admits, "but I gave in, didn't I?"

"You did." She reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. "And you never looked back."

 _But I'm looking back. I'm looking back and wondering what I'm supposed to fix. What did I do wrong?_

… and then it comes slamming back to her. _Mark._ Mark, who's going to be waiting for her in the morning.

And Derek, who's looking at her now with intent in his eyes.

Does it always come back to Mark, and Derek?

He's kissing her now but she can't melt into it because even though his lips are warm and his hands deliciously familiar, she feels like she's … _cheating._

Cheating on the real Addison, the one who should be here.

She's wondering whether she's fated to be a cheater in every universe when she hears a cry from down the hall and they jump apart.

"I'll go," she says quickly, needing space to gather herself, and she hastily straightens her pajama top on her way out of the room.

It's Ellie who cried out, and she finds her sitting up in bed teary-eyed amidst a mountain of plush toys and rumpled polka-dot sheets; she holds out both small hands the moment she sees Addison.

"Mommy," she whimpers, and Addison feels a powerful rush of protectiveness, _motherhood is instinct,_ and she gathers the little girl into her arms.

As she rocks her and feels their heartbeats matching each other's rhythm she's lulled herself, feeling the faintest tips of memories of soothing Ellie to sleep in the glider that still sits in the corner of her room.

She waits until Ellie is deeply asleep to tuck her back into bed and finds herself guiltily relieved that Derek, too, is slumbering when she returns to the bedroom. He drapes a sleepy arm over her waist when she crawls in beside him and the warmth of his body soothes her quickly to sleep.

…

It's going to be hard going back to an alarm clock.

When she leaves – because this isn't real, this place, this family home into which she was thrust – it's going to be hard.

She's slipping, she's letting herself get used to being wakened by excited voices and little hands patting her and dips in the bed as her children crawl over them to tell them it's morning.

Early morning.

"I'm hungry," Ellie says cheerfully, lolling against her, no sign of her bad dream from the night before. Addison finds herself playing with the ends of her silky reddish-brown hair, enjoying the coziness of the bed and both children's little voices.

 _It's my turn to make breakfast._

This thought pops into her head and she can tell from Derek's expression it's accurate. Damn.

"Can I help?" Nicky asks eagerly.

 _Yes, please. I need all the help I can get._

"You sure can," she tells him gratefully.

In the kitchen, they face each other in aprons – it took her two tries to get hers tied correctly, but luckily Nicky didn't seem to notice.

"What are we making, Mommy?"

Nicky is looking at her with bright guileless eyes and the import of his words sinks in. _Making._ "Um … remind me what we made last time, sweetie?"

"Apple-zucchini muffins," he tells her solemnly, then closes his eyes at the apparently sweet memory. "They were _so_ yummy."

"Right." She smiles at him.

So this Addison makes muffins. _Of course she does._

She wonders if Derek would notice if she spirited Nicky into a cab and whipped through the park to Zabar's. That's kind of like cooking, isn't it?

… probably not to the apron-wearing Nicky or the two Shepherds waiting for them upstairs. She closes her own eyes for a moment, briefly, and summons strength from every time she convinced a child patient that an IV was a magical butterfly or one of her nieces that the bee that stung them was just trying to give them superpowers.

"Nicky," she says conspiratorially, "you know what I just thought of … but I don't know if it will work…"

"What?"

"We could make … no, I'm not sure."

"What is it?" He bounces eagerly on his toes.

She leans closer and lowers her voice to an excited whisper. " _Cereal._ "

Nicky looks puzzled for a moment, and then her enthusiasm apparently catches on. "Yeah!"

She sends a grateful prayer to whoever's listening – Bizzy? – that this sweet little boy is easy to distract and then she makes a big production of finding bananas and blueberries to add to the cereal. Of course Derek has a box of muesli – he hasn't changed that much in this universe – and there are corn flakes, too.

She grandly suggests that Nicky select bowls for the four of them – which makes him happy, but also keeps her from looking foolish the way she did when she had to find Ellie's favorite cup. Then Nick wants to slice the bananas, and she hesitantly finds the dullest knife she can.

"No, I need _my_ knife. My knife doesn't have the things." Nicky points to the serrated edge of the one she's holding. "See?" Patiently, he shows her where his little knife sits in the drawer.

After breakfast of cereal and fruit – Ellie is immediately enraptured with their "cooking" and Derek at least pretends to be, as far as she can tell – and Addison falls a bit more in love with both children.

Maybe with all three of them, come to think.

Derek cleans up and there's time to admire the fragrant tree and discuss the plan to decorate it this afternoon, and then she excuses herself to get ready.

For … pilates.

With a lump in her stomach that comes from lying – which seems strange, since her whole existence in this universe is a lie – she treks upstairs alone to find that this Addison keeps her exercise clothes in the same place she herself did in the brownstone. For some reason … it's comforting.

At the door she adds cozy shearling boots and a slim-fitted down coat that she didn't buy, but she finds she likes.

"Thank you," she says as Derek leans over to kiss her goodbye.

"For what?"

 _Everything._

"For liking breakfast," she says a little mischievously, wondering if she's playing too close to the edge, but he chuckles.

"Not every morning is a muffin morning."

"Did you read that in a fortune cookie?"

"Don't mock my wisdom," he teases. "I didn't mock your cereal."

"Fair's fair," she agrees.

They smile at each other and for a fleeting second she forgets it's not real.

Then the children pull at her for goodbye hugs and she remembers.

…

9:30 at Café Luna. 9:30 at Café Luna. She recites this to herself on the way. It doesn't _sound_ so terrible … does it?

But then neither did Mark dropping by on a weekend afternoon to watch the game.

The man himself is already at the counter when she gets there, wearing the leather jacket that's as familiar to her as he is, and she lifts a weak hand in greeting.

"You made it," he says when she reaches his side.

Was he wondering?

"Last night it seemed like you might have changed your mind."

"I didn't change my mind," she says bravely.

Because she's decided that if this Addison is … _reckless_ enough to endanger the family in the brownstone she left behind, then she must be here to stop it.

And she's going to stop it.

As soon as she figures out what _it_ is.

Mark hands her a coffee – the way she likes it. But then she sees him dumping sugar into his coffee, the strangest thing he's done in this universe yet, and also ordering a bacon, egg, and cheese.

Apparently this Mark doesn't treat his body like a temple, but then neither did the other Mark until he turned 35 and his metabolism stopped cooperating. Maybe in this dream-world everyone can eat what they want without getting fat.

… it's certainly no stranger than a happy Bizzy.

He leads her outside with a coffee in each hand – somewhat extreme even for Mark, but she's seen him do it before.

 _Where are we going?_

She can't ask it so she just follows him a quarter of a step behind, her heart thumping, and then almost skids into him when he stops on the corner.

And hands the sandwich, wrapped in a paper bag, and the sweetened coffee to a weathered man wrapped in an insulated sleeping bag. He greets Mark like he knows him and they chat for a moment.

"Temp's going to dip below freezing tonight, Ronnie. You're going to go to St. Gregory's to sleep, right?"

"Too noisy in there," the man mutters.

"I know, but just for the night, because it's too cold."

He nods. "Okay, doc, okay."

"Good." Mark smiles at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Ronnie nods again, blinking rapidly. "Same bat time, same bat channel?"

"You got it. St. Gregory's, don't forget now."

"St. Gregory's," Ronnie echoes, then seems to notice Addison for the first time and his eyes widen.

He looks – frightened, and she takes a step back, bumping into Mark, who touches her shoulder.

"You," Ronnie mutters, staring at Addison like he's seen a ghost. "You don't belong here."

Addison glances nervously at Mark.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Addison heart is thumping. "I … "

"Ronnie, it's okay," Mark says calmly. "It's just Dr. Shepherd, you know her."

"No. No, she's wrong. Look at her, man. Can't you see it? She's the wrong one."

"Okay, Ronnie, we'll keep that in mind," Mark says calmly. "Come on," he tells Addison, pulling her gently away down the sidewalk.

Her breath is leaving her mouth harshly in visible puffs of cold air.

"It's okay, Addie." He seems surprised by her reaction. "Ronnie's a good guy, you know him. He was just confused."

"So he's … said that before," Addison suggests hesitantly as they walk. "To me, I mean, or to you?"

"No," Mark shakes his head, "but why does it matter?"

"It doesn't," she lies numbly.

…

They end up in the garage where Mark leaves his car and she climbs into the passenger side, balancing her coffee and her doubts. She has to stay focused.

She has to stop this Addison from sleeping with Mark. She can do that.

It should be easy.

Because she remembers how she felt before she slept with him the first time. A growing, gnawing pit of despair in her stomach. She was tense all the time. Her jaw hurt. She and Derek moved through the brownstone like strangers; they slept alone most nights. They didn't bother to fight, not anymore, just cold words.

She was lonely. So, so lonely. Desperate to feel wanted, loved. To feel the touch of another person. Not to sleep alone. Empty.

Mostly … she felt empty.

But this Addison? This life? Her husband pays attention to her, the house is alive with laughter and voices and love. How could she blow up this marriage? How could she sacrifice all that happiness, those two sweet children?

"Addison … you're still acting strange." Mark signals and eases the car onto the street. "You still afraid we're going to get caught?"

"Maybe."

She wonders if that noncommittal answer will help her understand what's going on.

"Don't be," he says carelessly. "Luckily, your husband has been clueless so far. Or maybe _you_ lucked out picking me."

"Picking you," she repeats faintly.

"You know what, Addie? I think you might need a coffee refill before we do anything. You still seem half asleep."

 _No. You don't understand. I was half asleep before, in the other universe. Here … I'm wide awake._

She gives him a weak smile and gulps her coffee. Maybe the extra caffeine will help. She still has no idea where he's taking her.

He starts talking about one of his residents – it's an amusing story, lighthearted and full of colorful detail, and it distracts her.

Mark was always good at distracting her.

She hardly notices the car easing onto the highway; the bridge passes unobserved. She hardly notices anything until he pulls into a vast parking lot she doesn't recognize – they can't be in the city, they're so much _room_.

Apparently they're here.

Wherever _here_ is, because she still has no idea where they are. They've parked near what looks like a massive warehouse.

Is it a … hotel?

It certainly doesn't look like anything good is happening inside.

And it doesn't smell particularly good, either.

She remembers that her affair with Mark wasn't exactly romantic – there was anger on both sides, there was carelessness, it wasn't flowers-and-candy so much as desks-and-liquor, but still … she has trouble imagining him bringing her to an odorous warehouse for a rendezvous.

Which means there's a chance …

"Addison."

Mark is giving her that same look, the _why are you being so weird_ look, and she tries to seem as normal as she can.

He hands her a pair of wellington boots, which are in the trunk of his car for some reason, and then changes into a pair himself. She watches curiously as he shrugs out of his leather jacket, shivering, and pulls on an insulated barn coat.

Wherever he's taking her has a dress code, it seems. It occurs to her that he might have wanted her to dress for a nonexistent pilates class for that reason. Could they be going to … exercise?

Except she's not aware of any exercise class, even a trendy 21st-century exercise class, that requires wellington boots.

Then he's passing a small bag into her hands, and she doesn't have to look to see what it is. The fragrance is as familiar as anything; it's … toiletries, shower supplies, small containers of her own shampoo and conditioner and lotion. She glances uncertainly at Mark, who shrugs. "You said Derek would notice if you came home smelling different, remember?"

 _No._

"Yes."

The thing is, she has too many questions to separate them. Her whole _life_ hereis a question so she changes her shoes in the parking lot like it's normal and then lets Mark lead her toward the warehouse.

 _Here goes nothing._

At least she hopes it's nothing.

Mark pushes open the heavy doors and ushers her in ahead of him.

The first thing she sees when her eyes grow accustomed to the dimmer light in the huge, high ceilinged space is a vast body of water.

A swimming pool?

If so, they need to call the pool boy, because it flat-out _reeks._ It's as if the entire place is full of –

"Well, if it is isn't my favorite fishermen!"

A large man with a bushy white beard, red plaid flannel shirt and a vest with so many pockets she loses count, greets them enthusiastically.

"Mark! Addison! Great to see you. Glad the time change worked. Your boat is all ready."

A sigh of relief courses through her entire body.

Whatever _this_ is … is utterly bizarre.

But it's not a hotel room.

It's not an affair.

 _I'm sorry I doubted you,_ she says silently to the other Addison.

"You okay?" Mark nudges her gently.

"I'm great," she says honestly.

"See? That's why people love to fish," the bearded man says happily. "The way it makes you _feel._ To think the first time you came here you didn't even want to get in the boat!"

And then she realizes what the boats on the smelly water are for. She sends a few choice words to the other Addison even as she's still smiling with relief.

"If you still want to learn to fish before Christmas … there's no time to waste," the bearded man says. His voice is gruff but his eyes are twinkling. "I think today's your day, Addison. Even Mitzi managed to catch one last weekend."

A blonde with perfectly highlighted hair and a ridiculously expensive jacket that really doesn't belong anywhere in this smelly space waves a manicured hand smugly in response. She's already in her boat and somehow looks comfortable despite her out-of-place outfit.

Addison stands up straighter. That's a dare if she's ever heard one. She forgets to wonder why she needs to learn before Christmas and vows to beat this Mitzi character.

She doesn't speak again until the bearded man has helped her into the boat – there are three other boats on the water, one other two-seater and the others with just one trainee fisherman each, including Mitzi.

Mark has just finished loading the gear onto the boat and she's trying very hard not to think about what's inside their tackle box.

"You're handling this pretty well," Mark observes, looking like he's trying not to laugh at her.

"What do you mean?"

Mark cocks his head. "It's the first week you haven't chanted _it's for Derek, it's for Derek_ when you got near the water."

"It's for Derek," she finds herself repeating, putting it together. "I'm doing this for Derek."

Mark rolls his eyes. "I guess I spoke too soon."

"So that means Derek and I, it means we really are … perfect," she marvels softly, forgetting for a moment that Mark is there.

" _Perfect_?" Mark's expression turns serious. "No. You're not," he says.

She gulps. "Mark –"

"Okay, folks, hold on tight!"

The bearded man grins and gives the boat a firm push with a booted foot … and in one stomach-sinking swoop, they're off.

* * *

 _To be continued_ (faster this time, I hope!). As always, I love hearing your thoughts so please share them with me! Reviews are the hot buttered rum to my August Christmas spirit.


	10. Let My Right Hand Forget Her Cunning

**A/N:** Damn, winter, back at it with the Addek stories! If only posting frenzies could last forever, but I'm gonna do what I can. This story needed an update. So do some others and they _will_ get them. Can't stop, won't stop? How many dated references can I work into one author's note? (Answer: the limit does not exist.) Thank you for being beautiful, wonderful, patient readers who love exploring what Addek could have been as much as I do. Enjoy.

* * *

 _ **Let My Right Hand Forget Her Cunning**_

* * *

"Mark," she says tentatively as their boat floats serenely on the indoor lake, mindful to keep her voice down so as not to disturb the fish, "what did you mean when you said … when you said that Derek and I aren't perfect?"

He gives her a curious look. "No one's perfect, Addison, isn't that what you always say?"

"Well, yes, but …"

 _But now I'm nervous there's more to it than that._

"Then let's focus on the fish." Mark smiles at her, and she pushes down her fears.

Not like there's room in her brain right now for much except … fish.

Because it smells like fish.

A lot of fish.

But there's sun streaming in from the ceiling – what looked like mirrored glass from outside is transparent from the inside, allowing natural light to flow through into the water.

Mark is smiling uncertainly at her. "You look the same as you did the first time we came," he says, "like it's your first time."

She has a sudden urge to confess. Maybe it's the surreality of this indoor fishing dome, making it seem like she could share her secret without destroying the rest of the life the other Addison has built in this universe.

Or maybe it's just lonely keeping secrets … something she remembers well from the other universe.

A sudden tug on her line startles her.

"You did it!"

"A rainbow trout," the bushy-bearded owner booms, looking pleased, while Mitzi with her perfectly highlighted hair glares at Addison from across the indoor pond. "Look, everyone, Addison caught the first fish of the day." He beams at her. "Now that means you get to gut it."

" _Gut it_?" She whispers to Mark. "That's just an expression, right?"

"Says the surgeon." He grins at her. "Hey, you wanted to win…"

"True." She accepts congratulations from the – fish coach? Is that a term? – and pushes back into the water with Mark to look for more, pausing to flash a victorious grin at Mitzi.

"Why now?"

"Huh?" Mark looks confused.

She's started … so she decides to finish.

"Why learn to fish now?"

"Addison, you're acting like this wasn't all your idea. You booked the trip." He looks at her, furrowing his brow. "Florida? Sailfish Alley? The day after Christmas? Addison, how do you forget something like…. " He breaks off, maybe seeing her expression. "Hey … _are_ you okay?"

The concern in his voice makes her feel guilty.

Mark used to sound concerned like that. Derek wasn't concerned but Mark was and he would ask if she was okay and she would always say _yes, I'm fine_ except one time she said _actually … no, I'm not_ – because it was true – and that's when he kissed her.

"I'm okay," she assures him now. "Really."

"Because if you're allergic to trout guts or whatever, now's the time to tell me. I can't bring you home with hives or Derek will kill me."

She smiles a little bit at the thought.

 _Derek cares. He actually … cares._

More guilt washes over her. The Derek in this universe should be with the Addison he married, the one who gave birth to the two children who light up the brownstone with love and laughter.

Instead, he's stuck with her. Because she's …

Because why? _Because Bizzy said so,_ she thinks, and almost starts laughing again at the sheer insanity of all of this.

Except that it's her job to make sense of it all, apparently, so she needs to.

She tries to put together everything Bizzy has said.

 _Choices._ This version of Bizzy loves talking about choices.

 _There are so many choices. Especially for women, don't you think?_

 _One might say everything is part of everything else._

 _You don't have much time._

 _You have to figure it out._

 _Our choices are all we have, in the end._

She takes a deep breath … and makes a choice.

"Mark … can I tell you something? But … you can't tell Derek."

"I don't know, Addison. The last time you started a sentence this way I ended up in a fishing boat on a fake river way too early in the morning to be awake on a Sunday."

She smiles a little at this, and then feels tears spring to her eyes.

"Addison, hey. I'm just teasing." His tone is gentle. "Is something actually wrong?"

"No," she says hastily. "No, of course not. I mean, it's just … ." She pauses. "It's just, um, it's just that lately I've kind of been … well, forgetting things. Some things."

"Forgetting things," Mark repeats, looking worried. "Addison. Isn't that exactly the kind of thing you _should_ tell Derek?"

"No," she says quickly, "it's not anything – medical, or anything like that, I just – I think I've been working too hard."

"You should get checked out," Mark says immediately.

"Okay, but wait, Mark, the reason I told you is – look, can I ask you some questions? Just – confirm some things?"

"Yeah," he says warily, "I guess, but Addison … you really need to …"

"…get checked out. I know. Just – I don't want to worry Derek over nothing. Okay?"

He looks torn. "Okay," he says finally.

"So you'll help me?"

"Yeah. I'll help you."

"Thank you, Mark," she says quietly, hoping he can't hear the desperation in his voice. "So, um, can you tell me about the fishing trip?"

He does.

"You really didn't remember," he says doubtfully, looking anxious.

"I just … needed some help," she admits. "Mark … you can't tell Derek," she reminds him.

"You really want me to keep secrets from Derek."

She looks around at the fragrant indoor fishing dome. "You're keeping this one."

"Yeah, but that's different."

"Mark…"

"Addison, I can't keep secrets from Derek. He's my best friend. It would violate the Bro Code."

"The whatcode?"

"The Bro Code," Mark says. "You know, bros before – "

" _Mark_ ," she cuts him off hastily and he smirks, "please…?"

"Fine," he says, glancing over the side of the boat when something tugs on his fishing line. "Just don't make me regret it."

She won't. She doesn't want anyone else to have to live with regrets.

She knows all too well how painful that is.

"We're happy, though," she suggests softly, "Derek and I, and … and the kids?"

"Disgustingly," he responds with a smirk.

She expels a sigh of relief.

"But was there ever a – "

Mark looks troubled, and she leans forward, ready to push the issue even though she doesn't want to, when the clanging sound of a bell interrupts them.

"Okay, time's up! Everybody out!"

..

After Addison and Mark are declared the winners for the morning – she accidentally-on-purpose smirks in Mitzi's direction when the fishing coach holds her arm up in victory like she's an Olympic gold medalist – they head out of the dome and into a long hallway.

Mark starts to turn toward a door marked _MEN_ and then turns back. "Does, uh, does what you said before mean you didn't bring a change of clothes?"

Addison nods.

Mark shakes his head. "You really are forgetting things…."

"You promised you wouldn't tell."

"I didn't promise," he corrects her, "but I did say I wouldn't, so … fine, I won't, but I don't feel good about it."

"Sorry," she offers.

"No, you're not." He waits until her coat is buttoned and then holds the door open for her. "Come on. I'll just shower at home."

"What about me?"

"You can shower at _your_ home … and hope that the peanuts aren't around to ask you why you smell like the fish market."

In the car Mark fiddles with the heat, looking somewhat distracted – maybe it's just the traffic, but part of her wonders if it was their conversation from before.

…and hesitates to try to revive it.

She could really use another visit from spirit-guide Bizzy. But if there's anything she knows about her mother, anything that must transcend this bizarre jump between universes, it's that Bizzy never does anything until she's good and ready to do so.

And she definitely doesn't take orders from Addison.

She thinks about the two children who live in the brownstone. They feel so … real, so alive, so _hers._

"So," Mark says, his tone cautious, as the river disappears under the bridge, "did you, um, want to ask me anything else?"

 _No. I'm afraid._

She opens her mouth and suddenly finds she's wondering something else entirely: "Mark … was Ellie named for someone?"

"Someone? You mean something?"

"What?" She's confused.

"Look, Addison," Mark says, sounding almost angry, "it's one thing if you don't remember the fishing trip, but if you're forgetting your own kid you _have_ to tell –"

"I'm not forgetting her!" She rests a hand on his arm pleadingly, feeling his muscles tense underneath her fingers. "Please, Mark. You can't say anything."

She can feel the moment he gives in.

Like it always has … it makes her feel guilty.

Except this time, at least she's helping Derek instead of hurting him.

And maybe, just maybe, she's going to help herself too.

..

The fates are on her side, it seems – or maybe it's Bizzy's doing, if there's a difference – because she comes home to an empty house and _took the kids to the park, back soon,_ stuck to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a baguette.

She hastens to shower and stuffs her fishy clothes into a Ziploc bag before tucking them deep inside the laundry hamper. _Maybe I'll be back in my own universe before the housekeeper empties it._

She feels a pang at the thought of her own universe, then a flash of guilt, wondering what the other Addison is doing right now. She must miss Derek. She must miss her children.

 _I'm sorry,_ she thinks sadly, _I'm sorry I love it here so much when I don't deserve any of it._

..

"Mommy!"

"Hey." Derek closes the front door against icy gusts of wind and then leans in to kiss her as the children clamor around her legs. "How was Pilates?"

"Great," she says, hoping she doesn't sound too enthusiastic to be believable. She touches her stomach muscles to suggest what she hopes is believable soreness.

"How was the park?"

"It was _freezing,_ " Nicky says reverently. "And Daddy says it's gonna snow tonight!"

Addison smiles at their bright eyes and pink cheeks and pitches in as everyone starts peeling off layers. Nick hands her his bear hat with a realistic growl that makes his sister giggle.

"Rachel's coming over!" Ellie beams.

 _Rachel._ And she remembers that the Savvy in this universe has a child.

"Lunch?"

Addison flinches, hoping she's not expected to cook.

Derek looks confused. "I fed the kids. It's almost two o'clock. I was asking if you had lunch."

"Of course," she says quickly, "I mean of course that's what you meant, and … no, I didn't have lunch, but I'll … figure something out."

Derek is looking at her curiously. "You okay, Addie?"

She nods vigorously.

"I'll get them settled. Go eat something," he suggests. "You look hungry."

"Is that bad?" She's half teasing, forgetting for a moment he's not her Derek, and he smiles at her like her Derek would have, when things were good.

"You could never look bad. But I think you'll look better after you eat some olives."

Ooh.

"I got the ones you like," he explains.

"Thank you," she says, touched, and hoping this Addison likes – and eschews – the same olives she does.

The refrigerator in the kitchen is nothing like the one she remembers from living here, with its bare shelves, occasional container of takeout, and multiple bottles of wine.

This one is packed neatly with stacks and containers of things, brightly colored Tupperware lids, whole drawers of cheese and crisp produce.

She sits on a stool at the island with a plate of cheese and olives – she threw on some grapes for good measure, and a small hunk of fresh bread she found in a wooden box on the counter. She didn't realize how hungry she was until she started eating.

"I put on a movie for them," Derek says as he joins her in the kitchen mid-olive, "but don't tell the _Mindful Parents_ listserv."

She smiles at his expression even if she doesn't get the reference. There's coffee left in the carafe and he pours both of them a cup.

"It's a Christmas movie," he adds, "like they'd watch anything else once the temperature drops, but at least that's sort of educational?"

"Christmas movies are very educational," she agrees.

 _We used to watch It's a Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve._ Every Christmas … even the last one they shared in New York.

With a pang, she remembers sitting an ocean apart on the couch in the den – Derek's _man cave,_ that was what Mark called it, to Addison's chagrin – with popcorn between them like everything was okay. Their hands brushed a few times in the bowl, sticky with butter and salt; words caught in her throat but she didn't say anything.

 _What if I knew that would be our last Christmas in this house?_

The boxes of ornaments in weatherproof tubs in the basement. She paid someone to empty out storage. _Some of these look valuable,_ the woman said hesitantly. _They're not,_ Addison told her coolly down a long-distance phone line. _Give them to charity or just leave them on the curb._

Are those ornaments still here?

She thinks of the taste of popcorn, the sweet scent of hot chocolate and the distance between them on that couch.

"I love you," she says impulsively, like she didn't on their last Christmas.

"I love you too," Derek says, looking a little surprised. He frowns. "Wait … are you about to tell me I have to go with you to the opera again?"

She laughs. "I'm not that strategic."

"Mm. That's not my experience," he teases.

"And anyway, that's what Savvy's for."

"I knew there was a reason I liked Savvy. Addie," he adds, glancing at her and looking a bit like he's gathering nerve, "can we talk about – "

The doorbell chimes interrupt whatever he was going to say and then four little feet are pounding out of the family room toward the front door.

Derek pulls it open and even though she knew who was coming the shock hits her straight to her bones.

"Savvy," she gasps, and then she's hugging her old friend tightly. It's been so long.

She feels the same but different, somehow a bit … softer, and then Addison is vaguely aware of a little blur darting between Savvy and the doorframe and running through the house.

And then she hugs Savvy tighter

"Addie," Savvy laughs, leaning back a little, her blue eyes twinkling the way they always have, "you act like you didn't just see me – "

"At Pilates," Addison says quickly, leaning in close to her friend again. "Sav … if anyone asks, just pretend we were at Pilates this morning."

Savvy gives her a curious look and Addison waits for her to say _I hate Pilates._

"I _was_ at Pilates this morning," Savvy says, "even if you skipped out."

"You were there?" Addison is confused.

"Sure I was there. Do you know a better way than Pilates to strengthen your core after a C-section?"

"No, of course not, I'm the one who told you that."

"And I listened. Ad … you're being weird." Savvy holds her away by the shoulders to examine her and Addison is afraid to exhale, worried the slightest twitch will give her away. "Have you been getting into the eggnog again?"

Addison laughs, relieved. "You know it's never spiked anymore."

"Yeah, with good reason, after – "

"Addie!" Weiss leans in to kiss her cheek. "Thanks for having us and making us the happiest Jews on Christmas."

"It's not Christmas yet, Uncle Weiss," Nicky points out.

"You're right, buddy, it's _almost_ Christmas, that's what I should have said." Weiss ruffles Nick's curls. "This one's going to be a lawyer, I think."

"Nicky!" A little dark head sticks out of the open archway. "Come play, hurry!"

"Rach …" Weiss calls. "Did you say hi to Aunt Addie or did you just run straight into the family room?"

"Um…"

"Don't answer that," Weiss suggests, grinning at his daughter as she walks all the way out of the family room sheepishly. He tugs lightly on her ponytail as she passes by.

"Hi, Aunt Addie," Rachel says when she reaches her.

Addison looks down at the little girl. She looks between Nick and Ellie in age, probably closer to Nicky, with wavy brown hair a shade between Savvy's straight blonde and Weiss's dark curls, laughing hazel eyes and Savvy's dimples in her round cheeks.

 _Savvy's daughter. I'm actually seeing Savvy's daughter._

"Hi, Rachel," Addison responds softly. "I'm glad you're here," she adds.

 _I just wish Savvy could be here to see you._

Which is strange. Because – she is here, of course. _This_ Savvy is here, but it's _her_ Savvy that she means.

Derek heads for the kitchen to make hot chocolate, Weiss half helping him and half keeping an eye on the kids playing in the family room.

Savvy pulls her aside.

"Addie … what's with the secrets?"

"Sorry," she says quickly.

Savvy waves a manicured hand, her rings flashing. "Please. I think we're past apologies. Like decades past. I just want to make sure everything's okay."

"Yeah."

"You'd tell me, if something was going on, right?"

"Of course I would."

 _I didn't, last time. I was scared to tell you how bad things were getting. Maybe if I had – if I'd leaned on you, let you know how lonely I was – I wouldn't have turned to Mark._

The thought pops into her head and surprised her. It's similar to something Savvy said then, when she showed up at her apartment in floods of tears after Derek left her, _oh, honey, I wish I'd known you were having a hard time,_ but …

"Everything's fine, Sav," she says softly, "really."

"Okay. Because the Pilates…" Savvy pauses. "This isn't like junior year when you were dating those two guys at once, right?"

 _No, thank god._

She laughs uneasily. "When would I have time for that?"

"Good point." Savvy glances toward the family room. "I barely have time to breathe with just one. I don't know how you do it."

 _It's not me. I don't deserve any of this._

"Sav," she begins.

"Mommy!" Nicky calls before she can finish her sentence.

Apologizing hastily to Savvy, she ducks out to check on the little boy.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

Nick gestures her into the family room and points to a spot high up on the as-yet untrimmed Christmas tree.

"I want to put my special ornament there, but I can't reach," he pouts. "I have to see if it's strong enough."

"Here." Addison holds out her arms to him and then lifts him to her hip – he's much heavier than Ellie but he somehow still fits perfectly, like she's been carrying him her whole life. "Now you can reach," she says.

Nicky beams and reaches out to touch the fragrant fir, then turns to Addison.

"It's strong enough," he says.

"Good." She kisses the side of his head, the scent of his baby shampoo in her nostrils.

"You're the _best_ mommy," Nicky says suddenly, generously, squeezing her around the neck.

She hugs him back, letting his soft dark curls hide her face so no one sees the tears in her eyes.

She thinks about how much she feared having children.

That she'd be cold, like her mother.

Draw them into her own dysfunction, like her father.

Derek didn't understand, not really. He tried to, at least at the beginning, tried to reassure her, but he would see her with his nieces and nephews and not understand how she could cuddle them and dry their tears and play endless games of sardines and checkers and still not want one of their own.

She feels a twinge, wondering what her life might have been like if she'd known, years ago, that she could be a good mother.

"Mommy!"

Addison feels Ellie's small fingers tugging at her hand.

"Mommy, it's almost Christmas," she says eagerly. "Right?"

She looks down into the little girl's blue eyes and remembers Bizzy's warning.

 _You don't have much time._

 _Until what?_

 _Until Christmas._

A shiver runs through Addison that has nothing to do with the low temperatures outside. She doesn't have much time to fix whatever she's here to fix.

To make things right.

Except she's not sure she knows what _right_ means anymore. Does it mean going back to her lonely life in California? Or does it mean she can somehow fix her past mistakes and … what, _merge_ with the other Addison? It's too much for her to think about – and certainly too much to share with the tiny girl who's looking up at her with a trusting expression.

"That's right, sweetie. It's almost Christmas."

 _I can do this_ , she tells herself as bravely as she can manage. _I just need a little more time._

God, she hopes it's true.

* * *

 _To be continued._ And I'm not even ashamed to say that I got a little misty-eyed thinking about what Rachel would look like. We all know that Savvy and Weiss are the patron saints of the cult of Addek. Merry Christmas in September, everyone. Until next time, which will hopefully be soon, remember that I love reviews like bros love the code. So how 'bout a review? xoxo

PS It's Labor Day weekend here in the states, so if you want to observe it like a fangirl, consider rewatching _Break on Through -_ or at least the fabulous smackdown of Richard that gets him to accede to the strikers' wishes at the end of the episode. Eh, just rewatch the whole thing ... it's quality.


	11. Timing

_**A/N:**_ _Happy Friday, beautiful people! To those of you who requested an update on this story during yesterday's posting frenzy, here's an extra long chapter. To those of you waiting for other updates, cross my heart they're coming. I never know when chunks of writing time are going to pop up, but if you stick with me I can guarantee they will continue to pop up. Thank you for your interest in this story and I hope you enjoy._

* * *

 _ **Timing**_

* * *

Christmas tree trimming proceeds into controlled chaos of the best sort.

The Christmas sort.

There's hot chocolate and gingerbread – Savvy's grandmother's recipe, and all three children help. Weiss and Derek lug boxes of Christmas ornaments up from the basement; carols play on the speakers as they gather in the family room to unpack them.

One by one, ornaments emerge; they stop to exclaim over some, with fond memories and origin stories where appropriate.

Ellie squeals with delight at a chunky ceramic ornament painted in rather haphazard red and green. "I _made_ that," she whispers to Addison, passing the ornament into her hands. "See?"

"It's beautiful," Addison says and the little girl beams.

The family room smells nothing short of delicious between the Christmas fir, the sweet spicy gingerbread wafting in from the kitchen, and the peppermint scent of candy canes.

She pauses for a moment to look around the room.

 _I could have had this._

But why didn't she? What changed, in this universe? What kept them together?

She's starting to feel certain that this is what she needs to figure out. She knows that something changed for them.

She just doesn't know what. Not yet.

She studies the room around them – the _family room_ ; without question, that's changed. There are framed pictures all over the shelves – some professional shots, beautifully subtle in their staging, flatteringly lit, and then amusingly candid ones of the children messy with ice cream, sandy on the beach, laughing in piles of leaves.

There's an old one – _so old, my god, we were babies_ – of all three of them, Addison, Derek, and Mark, grins splitting all three youthful faces, clad in identical pale blue and black robes, velvet hoods and black caps. Commencement.

Derek's in the middle, arm slung over Addison's shoulder, Mark resting his arm on Derek's shoulder in a one of those male-hug gestures that always looks to her somewhere between affection and violence.

Derek in the middle.

 _That's how it should be,_ she thinks without warning. Mark and Derek were best friends. Addison and Derek were … well, they were best friends, too, and they were in love, but Mark and Derek knew each other from childhood. Their friendship was cherished, valued.

That's another thing that changed.

The picture is filling her with a strange sadness she can't quite identify, so she turns away – right to a familiar portrait she framed herself. The wedding photo reminds her again that both versions of her started out the same way. Both Addisons married their twinkly-eyed lab partners; both versions bought this very brownstone and put their own stamps on it.

But where she and Derek drifted apart and never found their way back together, _this_ Addison and Derek only moved closer. _This_ Addison created the family she's never had.

 _I'm sorry,_ she thinks helplessly, hoping the Addison who belongs in this universe isn't too horrified by her own sterile life in Los Angeles. _Are you wondering the same thing? Are you trying to figure out where the other Addison went wrong?_

Her gaze falls on another photograph. This one she lifts to get a closer look, seeing her own beaming, younger face, messy hair and salmon-pink scrubs. She's cradling a newborn and the picture is of her, a closeup, except she can see part of someone else in the frame. Someone familiar. She squints, trying to see. Dark hair, and –

"Mommy!"

Addison nearly drops the frame; gathering herself, she sets it down quickly and then turns, smiling at the eager expression on Nicky's little face.

The thing is, it's hard to concentrate here. It's hard to ask herself these difficult questions when the alternative is the sweet, innocent faces of the children who could have been hers.

 _But they're not_ , she reminds herself.

 _But they could have been,_ another voice adds and she has to take a deep breath to compose herself so she doesn't worry Nicky, who's describing in great detail the clay handprint he's made at school for this year's tree.

"It's _heavy_ ," he says. "But trees are strong. Right?"

"Right," she assures him, stroking his dark curls.

"And I'm gonna put the other one on – " Nicky pauses, frowning, then turns to his father. "Daddy, where's the thing?"

Derek glances over, hands on his knees, as he finishes rummaging through one of the boxes.

"We didn't bring it up yet, I guess," he says.

"The birch box," Addison says without thinking, realizing it's missing.

Derek nods.

"I can go get it," she offers.

"You want me to go with you?"

It's one of those deceptively simple questions that she's come to fear will give her away. What would the other Addison, the one who belongs in this universe, say?

"No, that's okay. You stay on call for hot chocolate refills." She smiles at him and he doesn't seem to think she's acting strangely.

 _Thank god._

...

Muscle memory guides her to the door between the butler's pantry and the hall powder room. The light switch she flicks with her left hand is exactly where it should be, and it even takes a moment to wink on like she remembers. The fifth step – there it is, the _creak_ that always accompanied it. They used to joke that their kids would never be able to sneak down there.

 _Their kids._

She considers it for a moment. When did they stop talking about children? Those fantasies of her hair and his eyes coming together into something better than both of them – when did they disappear?

For some reason, it feels important to remember. As little as she understands about why she is here, and what she needs to do, one thing she _does_ know … is that whatever is different here must have _started_ being different before Nicky was born. Something kept this version of her, and this version of Derek, on track.

 _What was it?_

Why didn't they drift apart? Where is the silence, the prioritizing of ambition over intimacy, the swallowing of fears and complaints and concerns because the time they spent together was so rare that it was easier just to drink wine and make surface conversation?

The half-finished basement that greets her has some marked differences – there's still metal shelving with carefully labeled boxes – " _M1 Texts – A"_ ; _"Notes – D"_ ; she recognizes those, and then there's " _Maternity Clothes (Spring/Summer)"_ … this one makes her stare, tears coming to her eyes.

That's her handwriting.

The other Addison must have written that with _her_ handwriting. And then put it away in the basement when she was finished wearing them. There's _"Clothes and Keepsakes (N)";_ and " _Clothes and Keepsakes (E)_."

The boxes are fairly small. She wonders if this Addison gave away a lot of the children's clothes, once they no longer fit, gifting them to families who might need them. The idea of this warms her heart a little.

 _I'll bet you did that,_ she tells the other Addison silently. _That's the kind of person you are. You're better than I am._

She leans against the unfinished wall for a moment, catching her breath. It's cool down here, faintly damp even with the dehumidifier is chugging away with the same noises she remembers. The weatherproof tubs are protecting the history they hold. She follows the line of labels until she gets to the one she's seeking.

It's a small white birch box whose origins she'll never forget, and it's protected in a clear plastic bin with firmly locking vacuum sides. Carefully, she unclips the clasps and reaches for the box.

The white wood is smooth and rough all at once, with a hammered pewter lock.

 _This is the same._

 _This hasn't changed._

She draws a long, deep breath.

…

Ellie is curled up on the couch, dozing, by the time Savvy and Weiss pack up a sleepily protesting Rachel – and a foil-wrapped package of gingerbread – and head back to their own apartment.

Addison returns from the front door to see Derek clearing ornament hooks and Nicky frowning with concentration as he pokes a soft brown bear hanging from a low branch with a thin golden cord.

"Bedtime, Nickles." Derek stands up and ruffles his hair. "You can move the bear in the morning if you change your mind."

The little boy is too tired to complain, it seems, accepting a ride on his father's back; Addison lifts a sleeping Ellie into her arms and the four of them ascend the stairs together.

The children's bedtime routine is starting to feel worryingly familiar, even … _normal_. Nick falls asleep halfway through his first bedtime story; Ellie never opens her eyes, and Addison and then Derek flop onto the living room couch with a mug of hot chocolate between them.

"I can't believe it's almost Christmas," Derek observes. "I'm not exactly ready-"

 _Oh god, I'm not ready either._

"- for another frantic building session to make Santa look good."

Addison smiles; a memory that's not her own clicks into place like it's always been there. "That dollhouse should only have taken an hour, tops."

"Oh, you still think you could have done it better?" He glares at her with mock offense.

"I don't think you want me to be honest – hey! I'm holding hot chocolate," she protests when he reaches for her.

"It's easy to Monday morning quarterback when you're not surrounded by eight thousand tiny dollhouse parts," he says defensively. "And your backseat driving wasn't exactly helping."

"That's fair," she concedes, then pauses. "Actually … you looked pretty good surrounded by eight thousand tiny dollhouse parts."

"Yeah?"

When she closes her eyes she can summon the memory. It's not hers, but it's there, in her head.

 _I wish it were mine._

"Yeah," she confirms.

"Well … if you're going to be this nice, I guess I'll still build Nicky's twelve-truck garage."

"Then I'll still backseat drive."

"I'd be shocked if you didn't." He takes the mug from her hand and sips it. "Too sweet," he says.

"Who, me?"

"Never." He sets down the mug and relaxes against the couch, pulling her with him. "You're salty."

"Salty!" She laughs, twisting in his arms. "Now I'm the one who's offended."

"And I'm the one who's shocked … again."

She swats playfully at him; they're half-wrestling, both laughing, when she hears something – a creak?

"Derek." She pulls back, heart thumping. She has the strangest feeling …

"Giving up already?" He brushes a loose strand of hair away from her face.

"Not even close," she teases him, "I just … I thought I heard something."

"One of the kids?"

She's not sure. It's suddenly cooler in the room, as if someone's left a window cracked.

Or a door.

She glances nervously at Derek; he's holding a monitor in his hand. "Ellie's still sound asleep," he assures her, gesturing at the screen.

"And Nicky?"

"We haven't had a monitor in there for a year, you know that." Derek looks slightly concerned now. "Addie, is there something you – "

"No, I just – I'm just going to check on him," she says quickly.

She forces herself to ascend the stairs with a calm she doesn't feel, reminding herself not to let Derek suspect anything.

And she's not even sure what he would suspect – she's not sure why she's suddenly anxious, just that she is.

Nicky's door is cracked, the soft glow of his boat-shaped nightlight illuminating a patch of hooked rug. She tiptoes in.

He's sleeping on his back, one arm resting on his teddy bear and the other curled softly on his bright yellow quilt. There's enough light spreading from his open door that she can make out the restful rise and fall of his little chest, even the faint dusting of freckles across his nose. His dark curls are sleep-tousled, falling across his forehead.

She feels a sudden rush of tenderness for the sweet child sleeping in the room she remembers from her time in this house as sterile and empty. Silently, she approaches the bed. With the utmost care, she brushes a stray curl from his forehead. His skin is warm and soft under her fingers. He doesn't wake.

Suddenly, she's flooded with envy. _I feel so strongly for you now and I just met you a few days ago. I never got the chance to carry you in my body, feel you grow, experience your birth, watch you learn to laugh and walk and speak._

All of that was his mother.

The Addison who belongs in this universe.

The one who zigged where she zagged, who took the fork in the road she somehow missed. Something small enough that she can't identify it but huge enough to change everything about her life.

 _Help me. Help me figure it out._

Just then, hands settle on her shoulders and for a moment she's certain her heart has stopped.

"Sorry – I didn't mean to startle you," Derek murmurs from behind her. Nicky hasn't moved, still sleeping deeply, and she takes a moment to gather her breath.

"He looks like you when he's sleeping," she tells Derek impulsively.

She can feel his smile against her hair. "Does that mean he looks like you when he's acting up?"

She turns in the circle of his arms to return his smile. "No, he looks like me when he's reading above age level."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Show-off."

"Takes one to know one," she retorts in a whisper. Truthfully, she's missed teasing him.

He looks like he's trying not to laugh as he tugs her behind him out of Nicky's room.

"Nicky's fine," he reassures her once they've descended the stairs. "And I peeked in on Ellie; she has her bunny in a death grip and I'm pretty sure she was snoring a little – which she definitely gets from your side of the family – so I think it's safe to say we're all set."

He has his back to her now, leaning over the coffee table to collect hot chocolate mugs, which is good.

Because he can't see the tears that spring to her eyes at his casual phrasing.

 _Your side of the family._

 _Family._

She draws a shaking breath, getting control of herself as quickly as possible.

They move together in the kitchen, clearing the remaining dishes and straightening up the detritus of an enjoyable evening. Derek pauses halfway through connecting the two pieces of a sippy cup he's lifted from the drying rack.

"Addie," he says tentatively, "maybe this is a good time to talk about – "

About what, she never finds out, because apparently pagers are the same in every universe; hers goes off, summoning her to the hospital. She kisses Derek goodbye apologetically and sends a brief shake of her head to the other Addison, who apparently on top of all her other responsibilities is still willing to take overnight call.

…

As she descends the steps from the front door to the sidewalk, she tries not to feel terrified about the proposition of treating a stranger's patient.

 _Okay, look, Bizzy, I know you're … whatever you are … but this is a woman's life. And a baby's life. So whatever spirit lesson you're supposed to be teaching me, this would be a really good time to just … make sure I know what I need to know._

And just like that, she knows where she's going: she's hailed a cab and directed the driver to Mt. Meron. The confidence with which the words leave her mouth reassures her a bit. So she's still on faculty there, it would seem, whatever else she's doing in practice.

She hasn't set foot in the once-familiar hospital since she left New York, but the doors swing open to welcome her the way they used to – there are red felt stockings hanging from the security desk and more at reception; presumably L&D is still –

"Dr. Shepherd!"

Addison's gaze slides quickly to the other woman's name tag. She's young – _god, were we ever that young? Can someone that young actually be a doctor?_ – and must be the resident who paged her. "Lopez. Hi. How is she?"

"I'm sorry we paged you so late. Madeline was kind of freaking out, and you did say – "

"It's fine," Addison says briefly, assuming this Addison would say the same. "Just catch me up and I'll get changed."

They walk down the hall together at a brisk pace, the ponytailed intern filling her in on the progress of the laboring mother.

"O'Dell's on call tonight but she begged me to call you; you know she was –"

"-anxious about delivery," Addison says, fascinated and relieved at the same time at the way the information is just sliding into her head at the moment she needs it. "But she needs to be sectioned."

"And she only wants you." The resident passes her the chart.

"Should be straightforward enough."

"Guess she couldn't wait."

"Wait?"

"For Christmas." The resident smiles at her and looks even younger if that's possible. "Remember?"

"Right. Of course." Addison snaps the chart closed and reaches for the door to the locker room. "Well, now her daughter can celebrate twice every December. I'll see you in the patient's room."

She relaxes as much as she can, letting herself be guided by whatever is helping her to a longline locker; her fingers push in the code without any help from her brain. She strips her sweater over her head and is unbuttoning her jeans when a voice startles her.

"Are you really expected to undress in public like this?"

Standing next to a row of lockers, looking distinctly unimpressed, is her mother. She's wearing an impeccably tailored black and white tweed suit, a silk scarf offering a pop of color, and to say she looks out of place among the lockers and the shelves of clean pink and green scrubs, elegant cap-toed pumps resting on a bleach-scented linoleum floor … would be putting it mildly.

"Bizzy," she says, not sure if she's relieved or horrified, shrugging quickly into her salmon-colored scrub top. "I was hoping to see you but, um, I didn't expect to see you here."

"And yet … you apparently expect to see all your colleagues." She's looking around the locker room, frowning. "How barbaric."

"It's fine. We're used to it."

"Being used to it hardly means it's fine," her mother replies archly.

"I'll keep that in mind next time there's a physician satisfaction survey," Addison says. "Bizzy, what are you doing here?"

"You just said you were hoping to see me."

"I was, but – I mean, I didn't know it would be here."

"How unpleasant for … you," Bizzy says mildly, looking with unabashed disapproval around the locker room.

"It appears you're … settling in, aren't you."

Addison blushes a little at the implication. "Wait. You didn't –" She lowers her voice, remembering the – " _see_ us, did you?"

"Really, Addison." Bizzy frowns. "Don't be vulgar."

"No, we didn't, I just meant … okay, you know what? I don't have time for this."

"You're right. You don't. You're running out of time, in fact," her mother says sternly. "I told you, Addison, Christmas is almost here."

Addison swallows hard. "No, I mean – I have a baby to deliver."

"Oh, I'm aware of that too."

She notices that her mother looks rather self-satisfied.

"Bizzy, you didn't … break her water, did you?"

Now her mother looks faintly nauseated. "Didn't I ask you not to be vulgar?"

"You _just_ said that … forget it. But you did give birth to two children," she can't help adding.

"Yes, well." Bizzy adjusts her scarf primly. "There's no need to remind me of that, dear."

Right.

"I just meant that you must remember that there's an element of timing involved. So I should really get to my patient."

"These things take time."

Addison finds her brow furrowing at Bizzy's words. "Labor takes time? Well – yes, but I'm her doctor."

"So you understand the timing."

"The timing – look, Bizzy, I appreciate your … whatever this is," because she's not sure there's actually a word to describe her mother _spirit guiding_ her in the attendings' locker room wearing her trademark Chanel and pearls and refusing to give her a straight answer about anything. "But I do have to get to my patient."

"Timing, Addison," her mother repeats. "Think about the _timing_."

"Okay," she says quickly, "I will, but … I need to work, and you should know that I'm about to change my pants."

Bizzy grimaces, as if she's just seen someone wearing white after Memorial Day. "Think about it," she says one more time … and then she's gone.

…

"Dr. Shepherd, you're here!" The woman in the bed – no, not the woman, her patient, Madeline – smiles even as her eyes betray her anxiety.

Addison returns her smile, weakly.

 _Dr. Shepherd. Not Montgomery … Shepherd. How can it sound so bizarre and so right at the same time?_

"I'm here," she affirms, smiling with manufactured confidence.

 _Except I still don't know why I'm here._

…

"Well … you didn't quite make it to Christmas." Addison smiles at her patient. "But you have a beautiful, healthy little girl."

Madeline is beaming through her sleepy, post-sedative haze; her husband Brandon is cradling the little wrapped bundle, helping her nurse.

"S'okay," she murmurs. "Christmas babies, they end up disappointed without a real birthday."

With a start like an electric shock, a memory that's not hers is coursing through her.

 _There's something soft next to her face. Flannel? And Derek's voice, he's laughing or maybe he's crying. And he's close, so close his words are only for her. The best kind of Christmas baby, he whispers, and she can't see his face but that's because he's holding her off the ground, enthusiasm swinging her like she weighs nothing even though –_

"Dr. Shepherd? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Brandon, of course. I'm sorry, I just, uh, remembered something."

"But everything's okay? With the baby, I mean?"

"Everything's okay. Everything's perfect." She gives both of them her most reassuring look. "So, have you … settled on a name?"

Brandon smiles. "We're still between Holly and Ivy. Christmas names," he admits.

"Ivy," Madeline says after a moment. "She looks like an Ivy, don't you think?"

"Yeah." Her husband smiles at her. "She looks like an Ivy."

Addison watches the tiny pink rosebud mouth moving on the little perfectly-shaped face. "Hi there, Ivy," she says.

"Having you here, Dr. Shepherd … it really helped," Madeline says.

"Of course." Addison smiles down at her patient. "I'm glad I could help."

"I feel like you get it. You know?"

"Yes," Addison says slowly, hoping her tone is convincing.

 _No. I don't get it. I don't get much in this universe but at least a ten-blade is still a ten-blade wherever you go._

Addison waits, hoping for that little click of knowledge, the way things she shouldn't know will filter into her consciousness, but it doesn't happen. Whatever her patient was afraid of, whatever Addison helped with – it's not clear.

"Yeah. Well, knowing you dealt with something similar, it … it meant a lot. That's all I want to say."

Her eyes flutter.

"Madeline. You need to get some rest," Addison says gently. "You and Ivy are in excellent hands with Dr. Lopez. And she'll page me in the _very_ unlikely event I'm needed. Okay?"

"Okay," Madeline murmurs, her gaze on the little pink and blue wrapped bundle in her husband's arms.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Shepherd," Brandon says huskily, pumping Addison's hand with his own grateful and rather sweaty one. "You're incredible."

 _You're incredible._

There's something about those words that strikes a funny chord within her.

It's not Brandon – plenty of patients, and their husbands, have told her she's incredible. The rush of hormones post birth of a healthy baby tends to make people generous.

No. It's something else.

But there's no time to figure it out. There's no time, period, as Bizzy – or whatever this version of Bizzy actually is – keeps reminding her.

She leaves final instructions, bids everyone goodnight – including tiny Ivy, whom she wishes a very happy birthday – and heads for the locker room, changing as quickly as she can. Her mind is buzzing.

But right now it's just a buzz. It's not confirmation. She'll have to wait to get home for that.

In the hastily hailed cab, scarf wound tight around the lower part of a face no longer used to east coast winters, she fumbles for her phone. _This Addison probably tells Derek what she's doing. Where she's going. Because this Derek actually cares._

Sure enough, there are a string of texts from her husband.

12:32 a.m. _N had a bad dream. He's fine now. Hope delivery is going well._

12:41 a.m. _He's still fine, but now he's sleeping in our bed. Sorry._

1:27 a.m. _And now E's here too. I swear she has a homing device. We miss you._

She stares at the screen. _I miss all of you too,_ she thinks, a little embarrassed, but quite frankly it's true. Imagine a home so warm you miss it in the bustle of a busy hospital. Not a cold, silent chunk of stone and wood, but … a _home_.

 _Healthy mama, healthy baby,_ she types. _I'm in a cab._

He's probably asleep again, but … no, her phone buzzes.

 _Glad to hear it. The bed is too empty without you._

She smiles a little. _How can it be empty,_ she responds, _with three people?_

The phone buzzes: _Because we're supposed to be four._

Buzz: _We need you._

She holds the phone tightly, feeling that now-familiar mix of longing and guilt.

It's not her husband, not really.

And they're not really her children.

So why does she find herself _really_ missing them?

 _Save my spot,_ she types, _I'm on my way._

It's even colder when she gets out of the cab, hastily thrusting cash to the driver, anxious for the warmth of the brownstone. She closes the door behind her as softly as she can, hoping she won't wake the three Shepherds sleeping upstairs.

She's suddenly, deeply tired – she's always been this way after a middle-of-the-night delivery, the adrenaline coursing through her until the birth and then powering her home, only to leave her the moment she sets foot in the house.

There's a bed upstairs waiting for her. A husband who missed her. Children who will curl into her when she climbs into bed, little heating pad sprites to warm her winter-chilled skin.

 _Stop it, Addie,_ she scolds herself, _don't get used to it. They're not yours. They wouldn't want you, if they knew …_

She unwinds her scarf, hangs it in the closet on the wrought-iron bar she recalls from her years here. Her coat is next, muscle memory guiding it to the hook where it lives. Finally, stripped of her gear, she sidesteps the staircase to pour herself a glass of water in the kitchen.

Because she's always thirsty after she delivers a baby.

She's never thought of why; it's just one of those _things_.

And then she sees that resting on the counter by the refrigerator is a glass.

It's a clean, dry glass, left there with obvious deliberacy.

 _He remembered._

Tears blur her eyes as she pours chilled water from the refrigerator – she's cold, and tea would probably be better, but she's been following up deliveries with cold water since she was an intern; it's just one of those things. One of those little habits, laced with superstition, that only someone who truly knows her well would be able to understand. To predict.

She swallows the water, and then her head is buzzing again. Climbing the stairs, she steels herself. She needs to look. She needs to follow up on her hunch.

So she pushes open a different door, not to the master bedroom. She uses her phone to light her way, not wanting to wake anyone up and picks across the soft carpet, praying she won't trip.

She doesn't see it right away. Nor would she expect to, because otherwise she would have –

But then her hands are drawn to a large white bear propped on the mantle of the fireplace. He's wearing a pink scarf; it looks hand-knitted. Carefully, she moves him aside, holding him in her arms.

And there it is.

 _Would you look at that,_ she breathes to herself when she sees it, illuminated in the faint glow of her phone. _Now we're getting somewhere._

* * *

 ** _To be continued (of course). Let me know you're still on board this alternate universe, or just throw candy canes at me for not solving all the mysteries quite yet. But look - progress! Please review and tell me what you think. (And/or what you're drinking tonight to celebrate the end of a long week.) Thank you as always for being so great - xoxo._**


	12. It's Still You

**A/N: _Happy Sunday!_** _I can't believe it's been over a month since I updated this story. When I started this story, the idea of Christmas seemed totally foreign and far off. Now here we are the weekend after Thanksgiving. You have been so generous with the feedback, which I truly appreciate. I'm enjoying exploring this new universe and I hope you will continue to enjoy it too. This update took so long that here's a super long chapter to make up for it ... and make some headway. To catch up, since it's been a month, recall that Addison just delivered a baby in the middle of the night (with a cameo from Spirit Guide Bizzy while she changed into scrubs). She headed back to the brownstone, and then stopped in Ellie's room, where something drew her to the toy-covered mantel. She moved aside a big fluffy white bear and saw ... something. Keep reading to find out!_

* * *

 _ **It's Still You**_

* * *

 _Would you look at that,_ _she breathes to herself when she sees it, illuminated in the faint glow of her phone._ _Now we're getting somewhere._

Knowing Ellie is asleep in the master bedroom, Addison carefully flicks on the small light on the mantel.

Now she can see it even better, looking back at her as if it's been there the whole time.

A white frame with pink matting.

Simple cardstock in the center, topped with a little pink grosgrain ribbon – a birth announcement.

 _Noel Adrienne Shepherd,_ born on the 16th of September, three years ago.

She saw Nicky's, that first night, but she's missed Ellie's every time she's been in this room. The lack of the parallel nagged at her, somewhere, but it was so faint in this strange world that she never followed up.

She studies the announcement.

 _Noel._ She smiles to herself as she pronounces the name; the syllables purse her lips like a kiss. She hadn't considered Ellie's full name – if you'd asked, she might have suggested Eleanor, and she vaguely recalls that Derek had an aunt Ellen.

But she wouldn't have guessed Noel.

 _It's Christmas, Derek. We love Christmas._

Noel – Ellie, for short.

 _We love Christmas … at least we used to._

It's two Christmas babies, then, in this house. Born six days shy of two years apart.

Not like Ivy, the little girl she delivered a few hours ago.

No, the Shepherd children are just what her patient said: _the other kind of Christmas babies._

Not born on Christmas. Created.

Her lips twitch, and then she's flooded with the same sense memory she felt at the hospital: soft flannel, and Derek's voice, laughing, thick with emotion. So close his words are only for her. _The best kind of Christmas baby,_ he whispers to her. He's holding her up in the air, his enthusiasm is making her fly.

She must have just told him she was pregnant.

Emotion overwhelms her; she grips the mantel to stay upright.

 _I know we got there._

She thinks of the two sweet, sleeping children.

 _What I don't know – is how did we get there?_

The framed birth announcement blurs in front of her eyes. She's so exhausted even standing seems like work.

Not to mention trying to find her way through a confounding alternate universe.

 _Two Christmas babies._

It's important. Something tells her it's important. But she's too tired to make sense of much of anything; she files it away for later and tiptoes into her bedroom.

A smile spreads across her face when she sees her family spread across the king-sized bed. The covers are rumpled in all directions. Derek is on his back with one arm thrown over his head. Ellie is curled next to him like a kitten, and Nicky is sprawled across the foot of the bed … like a puppy.

 _He always does that._

She blinks as another memory clicks into place. Trying to keep from waking any of the slumbering Shepherds, she undresses and readies herself for bed as quietly as possible.

Despite her best attempts, Derek blinks awake when she crawls in next to him.

"You're home," he says, smiling sleepily.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispers.

"No … I'm glad you did." He fumbles tiredly for her, pulling her down against his chest, and she curls into his warmth, grateful she can finally let exhaustion overtake her.

..

She blinks awake in an empty room.

For just a moment, her heart stops.

 _It's over. It's all over._

But then she blinks a few more times and sees a worn, one-eyed rabbit in bed next to her, and framed pictures of babies turning to children on the walls.

A deep sigh of relief flows through her.

She's still here.

But it's not just relief. It's guilt, too, especially when she checks the time. Nine-thirty? Derek must have let her sleep.

She wraps a robe around her pajamas, runs her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair, and makes her way down the stairs.

Cheerful sounds of chatter and clanking dishes greet her before she gets to the kitchen.

The other three members of the little family she's joined are gathered around the island. Nicky has both elbows resting on the marble. One of Ellie's small hands is creeping toward a bowl of berries. They laugh at something she can't hear as she approaches.

"Mommy!" Nicky sits back with gusto when he sees her; Derek hastily puts a hand behind the little boy's back to make sure he doesn't tip off his stool.

"Good morning," she says, smiling at him. There's a little ring of chocolate around his pink lips.

"Look, Mommy." Ellie points at her mug – it has two handles, and it seems to be made of something unbreakable like melamine.

 _Other Addison, you really thought of everything._

"Hot chocolate for breakfast!" Addison widens her eyes. "That's pretty exciting."

"Yeah, it's _so_ good," Nicky enthuses. He turns to his father. "Daddy … Mommy didn't get any hot chocolate."

"That's okay, Nicky – Mommy's going to start with coffee," Addison assures him, trying to ignore the prickle of sensation at the backs of her eyes when she refers to herself as _Mommy._

Nicky nods at this. Derek, for his part, looks amused. He stands up and gives Addison a kiss. "Good morning," he says.

"Late morning," she replies tentatively.

"Well, you had a late night." He tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

She nods. "Thank you," she says. She takes him in, the man who was her husband. He's still dressed in the flannel pants and soft shirt he slept in. Is he missing work because of her?

"Are you going in late today, or …." Her voice trails off.

Based on his expression, it was obviously not the right question.

"Addie, we haven't worked the week of Christmas in years." Derek is looking at her curiously.

"I know that," she lies quickly.

Derek rests a hand on her arm, leading her gently a few steps from the children. He speaks in a low voice. "Are you sure you got enough sleep, Addie? You were gone for a while. I know we planned to go skating today, but you can go back to sleep for a few hours and I'll take the kids to the rink – or we can reschedule."

He's looking at her so earnestly that guilt churns her stomach.

And of _course_ all four of them planned to go skating.

"No, honey, I'm fine. Really."

 _Honey. I just called him honey._

He doesn't look quite convinced.

"I just need a cup of strong – exactly," she says, smiling reassuringly when he hands her a mug. "You read my mind. Let me caffeinate and I'll be … myself."

She winces slightly at her own wording, but Derek seems to accept it.

The coffee is reviving, thank goodness. She props her hips against the counter and drains every last delicious drop. No sooner has she set down her mug than Ellie, who seems to have been waiting for a signal, holds out her arms.

Addison picks her up and then takes over her stool, settling the little girl on her lap. Ellie leans back contentedly, reaching for her hot chocolate mug.

"We were so quiet," Ellie says proudly. "While you were sleeping."

"I know." Addison drops a kiss in the child's sweet smelling hair. "That was so nice of you."

"Daddy said you needed to sleep 'cause you were working in the middle of the night," Nicky says, examining a blueberry on his plate and then offering it to Addison. "Were you making a baby?"

Addison swallows a smile at his phrasing. "Yes, I was a delivering a baby."

Nicky nods solemnly. "A girl baby or a boy baby?"

"Girl," Ellie chirps.

"Boy," Nicky retorts.

"It was a girl," Addison says before they can argue.

"What's her name?"

Addison smiles at the little boy. Nicky looks genuinely curious. It's been so long since even Derek asked about her work that it's going to take time to get used to children being interested, too.

"Ivy," she tells Nicky. "Her name is Ivy. She's a Christmas baby – well, almost."

"'cause it's almost Christmas," Nicky says, catching on.

Addison glances at Derek, taking a chance. "The other kind of Christmas baby," she says softly, repeating the words from the borrowed memory that rushed into her head in the hospital last night.

Derek doesn't look surprised at all. His eyes are very soft when he replies. "You said it." He leans forward and drops a kiss on her lips that tastes like –

"Hot chocolate." She smiles back at him.

 _Juju._

..

The rink is full of chattering voices: families wrangling children, couples holding hands. Christmas music pumps through the speakers. The cold air is flooded with the excitement that always attaches to the days around her favorite holiday.

Nicky and Ellie are fairly dancing with excitement as soon as they're within listening distance. It's a challenge to get them ready. Derek has to re-seat Ellie a few times, and Addison has to remind Nicky how sharp his blades are, but with only minor difficulties they get both of them into the little skates they've brought.

Addison slides her own feet into the white skates she pulls out of the thickly padded nylon bag. They fit perfectly. Of course they fit perfectly, but a little part of her still thought it might be a Cinderella moment.

She pulls her laces tight.

"Ellie has baby skates," Nicky says, pointing to little double-bladed skates on his sister's feet.

"I'm not a baby!" Ellie pouts.

"Of course you're not." Derek smiles at her, then turns to his son. "Nick, you used to wear the same skates when you were Ellie's age," Derek says calmly. "When El is the age you are now, she'll have single blades too."

Nicky seems to be trying to figure out the math.

"Be nice," Derek reminds him, tugging lightly on the strings dangling from his bear-face hat. It's Nicky's turn to pout.

His pout melts away, though, when Derek takes his hand and Addison takes Ellie's and they lead both children onto the ice.

Addison hasn't skated in years, but she's grateful to find that it's apparently much like riding a bike. She's steady on the ice as she guides Ellie, positioning her between her legs and holding both her hands. Ellie, for her part, giggles with each stroke of Addison's skates. Her own little feet are still, letting herself be towed.

Nicky is balancing well on his little hockey blades, but he still has a firm grip on Derek's hand. They make one big loop that way, and then skate toward the center ring where they can have a bit more freedom of movement. Derek lifts Nicky onto his shoulders.

Addison glances uncertainly at the guards. "Are you sure – "

But they're off.

"Derek, be careful," she calls after him before she can stop herself. He nods dutifully as he skates away, Nicky shrieking with joy as they take off – not too fast, at least – both his mittened hands in his father's hair.

Addison smiles down at Ellie. "Those two," she says.

 _They always do this._

She stops. The thought flowed into her head unbidden, and maybe it's true, but like all the thoughts from the other Addison that have been dropping into her mind since she's been in this strange new world, it's disconcerting.

"Mommy." Ellie is holding up both her hands.

Addison reaches down to take them, then pauses, not sure what to do.

"No, you go like this." Ellie gestures with one mittened hand. Trying to follow her instruction, Addison turns around so that she can skate backwards, towing the little girl.

Ellie beams. Her reddish brown hair flies in the cold air as they make their way around the smaller circle of the rink. She moves her feet a bit, mimicking the movement of her mother's skates.

"Look, Mommy, I can do it." Ellie beams up at her. "Let go."

Addison does, grinning when the little girl takes a few short steps.

Then Ellie's skates slip out from under her and she's sitting on the ice, looking too surprised to cry.

"Pick your hands up," Addison says quickly, before she crouches down to check her out, mindful of the skaters whizzing by. Ellie dutifully lifts her hands, then whimpers. "I fell down."

"I know. You're okay," she soothes, as a few other skaters join to make sure Ellie is all right. One of the guards skates over in his bright white nylon jacket, offering to carry Ellie off the ice until Addison reassures him that it's all under control.

Carefully, she lifts Ellie to her feet, but she's apparently done skating and clings to Addison, who has no choice but to hoist her into her arms despite her wet jacket and sharp skates.

"Where's Daddy?" Ellie whimpers.

"Right here." Derek skates over, lifting Nicky off his shoulders and setting him on the ice. "What happened?"

"I fell down," Ellie says.

He glances at Addison.

"She's okay. She just sat right down on the ice."

Derek reaches to take Ellie from Addison's arms. She grabs him around the neck. "I fell _down_ ," she repeats tearfully.

Addison rests her hands on Nicky's puffy coat-covered shoulders as Derek soothes Ellie. "She's fine," he assures them all; then, shifting Ellie to one arm, he holds his other hand out to Addison. She takes it, then takes one of Nicky's hands in her free one.

Ellie's not crying anymore by the time they're halfway around the rink. By three quarters she's just sniffling; within a loop and a half – and _Hark the Herald Angels Sing_ – she's smiling.

"I wanna skate too," she says, wriggling, apparently having had a change of heart.

Addison smiles as Derek sets her down and takes one of her little hands in his. Nicky reaches for her other hand, and now they skate in a group of four with the children between them.

The children are both pink-cheeked and giggling by the third loop. Now it's _Jingle Bells_ , and Nicky squeezes her hand.

"My _favorite,_ " he reminds her when she looks down.

She knew that.

She _knew_ that – presumably courtesy of Bizzy, her unlikely spirit guide.

 _Bizzy, if you know so much, can't you tell me what I did wrong to miss all this?_

Because floating in the back of her head is the same thought that's bothered her before: she could have all this, if she'd made it work. If she'd figured out how to be … better. Different. _Something._

For a moment she envisions sitting down for a glass of wine with the other Addison – she can tell from the cabinets in the brownstone that they drink the same wine – to pick her brain about marriage. From A to Z, _adultery_ to _zoning out_ , and everything in between.

 _This could have been my life._

The wind is strong as they loop around the rink, strong enough for the pink in her cheeks to be cold weather rosiness and the stinging in her eyes to be irritation from the dry air.

..

"That was _so fun_ ," Nicky says happily as they pile in a cab, after loop after loop of the bustling rink, and two cups of hot chocolate and two cider doughnuts shared among the four of them.

Addison's legs are aching a little – she hasn't skated this much in years, nor has she been working out enough, apparently – and the children's eyes are bleary and content.

Ellie falls asleep in Derek's lap on the way home, her heavy breaths so close to snores that Nicky has to cover his mouth with a mittened hand to smother his laughter. Then Addison feels laughter bubbling up in her own throat, and Derek turns his head to chuckle into his own shoulder without waking up his sleeping daughter.

It's warm and pine-scented inside the cab; Christmas feels fingertips away, close enough to touch.

Ellie stays asleep for the duration of the ride, finishing her nap inside after Derek carries her up the front steps. She doesn't stir when Addison plucks off her bunny-ear hat or unzips her coat. Nicky sheds his own outerwear and drops several pieces on the floor.

Addison admires how smoothly Derek frees a hand to catch his son before he can escape the room, pointing meaningfully at the clothes on the floor.

Nicky obliges him; scooping his coat and hat up and depositing them inside the closet. Derek ruffles his hair and then he takes off.

Addison trails the little boy toward the family room as Derek carries Ellie upstairs.

She finds him lying on the floor next to the Christmas tree.

"Nicky?"

He smiles up at her. "I missed the tree," he says. "When we were out."

"You did?" She kneels down next to him.

He nods. "Uh-huh." He draws in a big breath. "It smells so good," he says happily.

Addison takes a matching breath. "It really does."

She tries to imagine Christmas morning.

These sweet small children in their Christmas pajamas – the ones that were so cute they couldn't wait any longer than Thanksgiving to distribute them – sitting under the tree she helped decorate in the family room, tearing into colorful wrapping and exclaiming over Santa's bite marks in the cookies they no doubt make.

The fantasy is so alluring – so much like the ones she imagined before she ever saw this universe – that it makes her stomach clench with longing.

But then she's cold all over again, remembering Bizzy's words.

 _You don't have much time._

 _It's almost Christmas._

So she won't be the one here on Christmas morning. She hasn't dared ask her mother if there's a possibility that if she figures out where her life went wrong …

… but no. How could she stay in this universe? It's not real. It's made up.

"Is Ellie taking a nap?" Nicky asks.

Addison nods.

"I don't take naps anymore," he informs – no, _reminds_ – her proudly.

She watches a yawn split his sweet face. He rubs his eyes, then glances at her and squares his little shoulders.

Then she sees him cast a longing glance at the squashy couch.

"How about a movie?" Addison asks casually.

Nicky agrees immediately and curls up next to her on the couch. They're not more than a few minutes into _Frosty the Snowman_ before he's resting his head against the sleeve of her sweater. His head grows heavier, and the next time Addison glances over, he's fast asleep, breathing softly.

She can't help smiling at how cute he is. And how right he is. It's not a nap if you're sitting up on the couch … watching a movie … like a grown-up …

"Addie …"

She stirs, confused. "Hm?"

"The movie's over."

She rubs her eyes. Derek is standing above her, Nicky curled up sleeping against her.

Derek points; she follows his finger to the television screen, where familiar credits are rolling.

"We slept through the whole movie?" She glances down at Nicky.

"The important thing is … you didn't nap." Derek smiles at her, gesturing toward his son. "We should wake him up or he won't sleep tonight."

"Right."

She tries to look as if she knew that.

Derek glances at the sleeping child again. "Assuming they do sleep tonight," he says quietly, "I thought we could start some of the wrapping…"

Wrapping Christmas presents for their children. With Derek.

She swallows hard, then nods.

Gently, she brushes some of Nicky's dark hair off his forehead; he doesn't stir. She pauses. The real Addison, the one who belongs here, would know how to wake him, wouldn't she?

She doesn't have to wonder, because Ellie bolts into the room at that moment. "Nicky!" she cries happily. "You have to wake up, it's _morning_!"

Nicky – along with possibly all their neighbors – does indeed wake up at that. Cranky, he rubs his eyes. "Go away," he mumbles to his sister, who is hopping up and down in her slippered feet. She's as energetic as if it really were morning and not … almost six o'clock, Addison realizes as she checks her watch.

"Nicky just woke up, El, let's give him some space." Derek lifts his daughter up. "I started dinner," he tells Addison. "Come in when he's ready?"

She nods weakly.

Nicky needs another few minutes – Addison sympathizes; being awakened like a shot is never fun, not even after all these years of getting used to it. He sits quietly, occasionally rubbing his eyes, and then looks up at Addison.

"Did Daddy say dinner was ready?"

She smiles down at the little boy, then sniffs the air. It smells homey and inviting. "I think so," she tells him. Standing up, she holds out a hand. "Ready?"

..

Derek needn't have worried, it turns out. Hours of skating apparently tired the children out enough that even their naps don't get in the way of bedtime. Ellie falls asleep only a few pages into the book she chose; Addison finishes it on principle before she carries the little girl to her own room.

 _Goodnight, Christmas baby._

Addison presses a soft kiss to her smooth little forehead, listening for a moment to her peaceful sleepy breathing before she returns to Nicky's room. He's already reading with Derek, and he beams at her when she walks in, pointing to the book.

 _Bear Gets Home for Christmas._

Nicky's favorite.

"My favorite," he says happily.

"I know," she tells him, honestly this time, and drops a kiss in his soft hair before climbing onto the bed to join them.

Out of the corner of her eye, Addison sees Derek pinch the bridge of his nose. He catches her looking. "I'm fine," he mouths.

He must be exhausted. Ellie napped, Nicky napped – even Addison napped, but as far as she can tell Derek has been awake all day.

"Go," she whispers encouragingly. "I'll finish up here."

He shakes his head, pausing, and then smiles ruefully, apparently recognizing that she's right. He kisses Nicky goodnight and they wait until he's out of the room to start reading again. Addison settles the book on her lap, angling it so Nicky can see the familiar illustrations.

"Bear liked the rain forest. It was warm and smelled good," Addison reads. "And he liked his new friends, the sloths."

Nicky giggles at the word _sloths_.

"But Bear missed his forest friends. And then Bear said, 'this isn't my home,' and he knew that he had to move on."

Addison swallows hard.

 _This isn't my home._

She turns the page almost reluctantly, half-hoping it will be different this time, and Bear will settle into his new home. But no, Bear finds the sled just like always.

"And he got home in time for Christmas," Nicky recalls sleepily. "Right, Mommy?"

"Right, Nicky." Addison strokes his soft brown hair. "You want to read another?"

"Yes," he says immediately, though his voice is muffled by her sweater and he's half asleep.

Somehow she finds herself reading two more books. Nicky is dozing on her arm, but his little flannel-pajama-clad body is so soft and warm and his breathing so peaceful that she can't seem to tear herself away.

She looks down at his little hand resting on her sweater.

 _I don't know how long I'll have you,_ she rationalizes. _So it's too hard to let go._

..

Derek's back is to her when she steps into their bedroom. Just the set of his shoulders in that old thermal shirt – a faded, familiar blue – makes her throat feel thick.

He's not sleeping, but his body posture looks relaxed.

 _It's still you._

He turns as she approaches, and his eyes are soft.

"Addie? What's wrong?"

Just the fact that he noticed makes her feel even closer to crying. "Nothing," she says quickly. Her gaze drifts to his hand; he's holding a framed picture. When he sees her looking, he holds it out to her.

It's a smaller Nicky and Ellie, bundled up in winter coats and hats and mittens, beaming next to a lopsided but cheerful-looking snowman. The snowman is wearing a red and white Santa hat; he has a candy cane for a nose and a wreath draped around his –

"Christmas," she says softly.

By the size of the children, it was last year. And by the shingles in the house behind them …

"We were out east last Christmas," she says slowly, forcing down the question mark she wants to add to the end of the sentence. The shingles, the curve of the fence, even the color of the sky – she recognizes them.

"Of course. It's tradition. You and your wintry beaches." Derek leans in for a kiss.

"Yeah," she says faintly. She feels the familiar pang of guilt that this Derek – this version of her ex-husband who seems to be so caring, so attentive – is stuck with a wife who doesn't belong here.

 _It's tradition._

So they have their own traditions. Cold, wintry beaches – snowmen and candy canes and two beaming children. Is that where they're heading in a few days?

 _You don't have much time._

 _It's almost Christmas._

"Derek," she says impulsively, "let's look at the pictures from last Christmas."

She's not quite sure why she said it, except that it seems like she _needs_ to. She doesn't ask: _are there more pictures?_ Instead, she just banks on this being easy, obvious, and natural – and maybe she's starting to get used to this mysterious universe because Derek doesn't blink at the request.

Derek takes a few steps, but then pauses.

"Addie … this isn't going to be like the card?"

She blinks, confused. "Like the card?"

"Never mind, I shouldn't have brought it up." He smiles at her. "I'll get the pictures."

He doesn't get the pictures, though.

Because he stops in front of her and when she meets his gaze she can see his expression change – the moment the tears that have filled her eyes overflow.

"Addie," he says softly, raising a gentle hand to her cheek.

She brushes tears out of her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly."

He pulls her into his arms, but the sheer relief of his solid warmth against her makes the tears flow faster. He still feels so familiar, the contours of his chest, his shoulder, the way his arms feel when he holds her. His scent when she lets herself get this close.

 _I didn't appreciate it enough, when things were good._

She wraps her arms around his waist, wondering how it all went wrong.

Is it possible it wasn't all her? Maybe they didn't appreciate each other enough.

She apologizes again, muffled by his shirt, and he says something wordless and soothing, rocking a bit from side to side.

 _He's so good at this._

She's missed it.

One deep, shuddering breath later, she's drawing back. "Thanks," she says softly.

He smiles at her. "You're not being silly. You're just … sentimental."

"Potato, po-tah-to?" She gives him a teary smile and he kisses one of her wet cheeks.

"You're not the only sentimental one in this house," he reminds her.

His eyes are so soft, soft enough to fall in.

And sure enough, then she's kissing him, and then some of the painful guilt is melting away because _she's_ the one who's here and _he's_ the one who's holding her and this is her own memory they're crafting.

It's not her world but it's her day, her few days, her skates on the rink and her muffled laughter in the taxi, her voice reading to Nicky and her arms twining around the man who used to be her husband.

No one put those memories in her head. Not today's memories.

 _She_ made those.

It's her own story she's sketching as his fingers burn her skin and her hands can't pull him close enough so she closes her eyes and loses herself in him … just hoping this world will still be there when she opens her eyes.

…

"That was amazing," she tells him sincerely, and then they both laugh when she has to spit water out of her mouth. As much as she's always enjoyed … enjoying herself … in the shower, she's been known to forget that streaming water can make talking difficult. From Derek's amusement, _his_ Addison can't have been much different in that regard.

Derek ducks away from the spray before responding. "Amazing," he echoes. He turns her around to massage her shoulders, and she drops her head back, wondering if he'll judge her if she moans in ecstasy. She hasn't felt this good, physically, in …

… a long while.

They take their time washing, themselves and each other. Ellie's baby monitor sits on the vanity nearby, one of them checking every so often that she's still sleeping peacefully. They keep their voices down, alternately whispering, laughing, and shushing each other, reminding her of medical school when they had to stay quiet for slumbering – or studying – roommates.

Her fingers are wrinkled by the time they get out of the shower. Derek hands her a fluffy towel – it's warm; she recalls that he mocked her when she paid to have a towel warmer installed, but he stopped complaining the first time he felt warm Turkish terrycloth on a cold winter morning.

Carefully, she wrings out her hair.

"What were we supposed to be doing?" Derek rubs his own hair with a smaller towel, grinning at her.

"Not this?" Addison feigns innocence.

"Not this," he says. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I know I'm not complaining," she counters.

They share a smile, the beginning of a kiss, and then Addison pulls back. "Wrapping presents."

"Wrapping presents," he says. "Right."

"Wrapping presents," she confirms. Then she giggles a little, suddenly feeling not that different from the twenty-two year old who had to sneak out of Derek's dorm on chilly mornings, damp hair freezing on her shoulders before she reached her own room. Everything felt new then, new and exciting and confusing.

... which isn't so unlike her current world, when she thinks about it.

Addison follows him out of the steamy bathroom, admittedly a little disappointed when he pulls on sweats and a t-shirt.

"Wrapping presents," he reminds her when he sees her expression, laughing a little. "We were going to make some headway wrapping presents."

Before she can respond, the doorbell chimes from downstairs.

"Who could that be?"

"Are you expecting anyone?"

They speak over each other, then stop. "I'll go," Derek says, which makes sense, since Addison is still wearing a fluffy robe and nothing else.

She dries off quickly, dresses in leggings and one of Derek's flannel shirts, enjoying the softness on her freshly washed skin, and toes into her slippers. Pausing at the top of the landing, she listens – and hears nothing.

Whoever it was must have left quickly. Addison recalls that packages are delivered late into weeknights around the holidays – maybe it was someone bringing another present for the children. She's smiling a little, thinking of the children's toys and wrapping them in colorful paper, when she hears a soft cry.

She pushes open Nicky's door. The little boy is sitting up in bed, curls rumpled from sleep, sniffing back tears.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" She keeps her voice low as she crosses the hardwood and soft rug separating them and sits on the side of his bright yellow bed.

"I had a bad dream," he whimpers.

"You did?" She brushes his hair out of his eyes. "You want to tell me about it?"

His breath hitches a little and he scrubs a tear off his cheek. "Bear was in it," he says finally. "But … it was all bad 'cause he couldn't get home."

"Oh, Nicky." She pulls him close. "That's just a story, honey. And Bear did get home, remember? He found the sled and got home."

"Not in my dream," Nicky hiccups. "He didn't in my dream, Mommy. He got stuck. He got stuck in the wrong place."

She strokes his hair. "It's okay, it's just a dream. It's not real."

He clutches her. "Can I sleep in your bed?"

"I'm not going to bed yet, sweetheart. Daddy and I have to … do some work first."

"Oh." Nicky sniffles.

"But I'll stay until you fall asleep," Addison assures him. She settles in the bed next to him, running her fingers through his dark curls. He smells like baby shampoo and his little nose is so perfect she can't help touching it lightly with one finger.

"Bear gets home?" Nicky murmurs anxiously as he drifts off in her arms.

"Bear gets home, sweetheart, I promise," she whispers, holding him a little closer to reassure him. "Everyone ends up right where they're supposed to be."

..

Nicky's so cuddly when he drops back to sleep that she almost falls asleep with him for the second time that day, but she manages to stay awake until his breathing is deep and even and then she carefully detaches him from her arms. When he's still quiet after a few moments, she tiptoes to the door and very carefully closes it behind her.

She still doesn't hear Derek as she descends the stairs; maybe he's in the family room wrapping presents without her.

Or the kitchen.

Maybe he's making them hot chocolate.

 _Juju._

She certainly doesn't feel like she needs it, not right now. Her whole body is relaxed and warm. Not only that … but she finds herself feeling the tiniest bit more confident. This world is still strange, but that was _her_ Derek before. Upstairs, in that moment, when they were together … he was hers.

"Derek?" she calls softly. "Sorry it took me so long. Who was at the – "

Her voice drops off as she rounds the corner of the living room. To her surprise, Mark is standing in the archway next to Derek. His hands are shoved in his pockets and he's not looking at her.

"Hi," she says slowly, glancing from one of them to the other. Derek's expression is very serious; Mark doesn't seem to be able to meet her gaze.

When neither man responds, she tries again: "Um … is everything okay?"

Mark looks at her then, and she sees something familiar flashing in his blue eyes.

 _Guilt._

That's what it is. She's seen it there often enough.

But guilt for what?

She racks what passes for her memory here. Anxiously, she recalls the fishing trip she took with Mark. It was so reassuring at the time. It can't be that she misunderstood everything. Can it?

Mark's words float through her head again now, taking on new and darker meanings.

 _So that means Derek and I, it means we really are … perfect._ That what she murmured in the fishing boat, only half-aware of Mark across from her. His expression turned serious then, she remembers that. _Perfect?_ he asked.

And when she finally asked why, what did he say? _No one's perfect, Addison._

He changed the subject right afterwards, didn't he? _Then let's focus on the fish,_ that's what he suggested.

It can't be more than seconds that pass, but the words echo in her head, over and over.

 _No one's perfect, Addison. No one's perfect, Addison._

 _No one's perfect, Addison._

Her stomach plummets.

"I should go," Mark says quietly. Derek nods, and a look passes between them that Addison can't decipher.

She watches silently as Mark heads out of the room. He pauses for just a moment as he passes her, and says two words very softly: _I'm sorry._

Before she can try to figure out what he means, he's gone, the front door closing behind him with a decisive click.

Cautiously, she steps toward Derek, but he speaks before she can.

"Sit down, Addison," he says, gesturing toward the couch. His face is grim, and his tone suggests it's not really a request. "We need to talk."

* * *

 _To be continued. (In honor of Savvy and Weiss, I promise at least one more update before the first night of Hanukkah.) What's going on in Addison's new world?! I absolutely love hearing what you think, so I hope you will review and tell me! Thank you so much!_


	13. This Close to Christmas

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter. I know I said I'd get the next chapter up by the first night of Hanukkah, and I didn't quite make it, but at least we still have two more nights left! So funny to post this alterna-Christmas story in the real Christmas season now. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

* * *

 _ **This Close to Christmas**_

* * *

 _Sit down, Addison. We need to talk._

Her legs are trembling at the import of his words; Derek indicates the couch – the durable, child-friendly couch that she's dared to make familiar in this new world.

Slowly, she sinks onto the soft fabric.

 _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

Her mouth slips open, apologies at the ready, but no sound comes out.

Derek's the one who talks first, and his tone is painfully gentle, and something else too.

"Addison … why didn't you tell me?"

 _Because I was hoping it wasn't true. I was hoping that I was better in this universe. Because if I still cheat on you in this perfect world, then that's just … who I am. A cheater. A cheater who hurts people._

She thinks of the two small children asleep upstairs, sweet peaceful faces.

 _Not just people … my own children._

"Addie."

She realizes the _something else_ in his tone is surprise.

Surprise … because _this_ Derek didn't know yet what she's really capable of. He still trusted her.

And he's still holding her hand in his.

Why is he holding her hand?

"Look at me, please," he urges.

She forces herself to raise her eyes and meet his gaze. His blue eyes are soft, worried.

"Addison … why didn't you tell me you were losing your memory?"

She blinks, confused. "Losing my – "

 _Oh._

"No, it's not – it's not like that," she stammers, trying to catch up to this latest paradigm shift. "It's nothing."

"You told Mark," he says. "You were worried. And so was he."

"I shouldn't have said anything to him," she tries. "It's not – I'm fine, Derek, really." She pauses. "Is that all he said?" she asks, trying to keep her tone steady.

Derek nods. "He was worried about you, Addie. You told him not to tell me?"

"I didn't want you to know," she croaks.

"But you must have," he prompts gently. "You told _Mark._ "

Her face must telegraph her confusion.

"You must have known Mark would tell me," he continues in a soft tone. "You could have told Savvy or even Nancy, but you told Mark."

She blinks, trying to make sense of it.

He's surprised that she told Mark – or he thinks she did it on purpose, to get the information to Derek. Of course – in this universe, Mark's loyalty is still to Derek.

She's reminded that Addison and Derek weren't the only ones who drifted apart those last few years in New York. Mark was part of that triangulation, and as she and Derek moved away from each other, she and Mark moved closer.

… closer to each other, and further from Derek.

 _I didn't know that, but I could have figured it out. Or should have. Did I tell Mark I was losing my memory because I was hoping it would get back to Derek?_

"Addie. How long has this been going on? Talk to me," he says gently, but firmly, when she doesn't respond.

"Not that long," she says.

"How long is that?"

"A few days … maybe a week …"

To be honest, she's losing track of time here. It's one long string of Christmas lights, irresistibly bright.

"You need to get checked out," he says, and she shakes her head immediately.

"It's not medical, Derek."

"You don't know that."

"I know I don't need an MRI. I just need – "

But what does she need?

 _Time. She needs time._

"Addie." Derek looks pensive for a moment. "Is this why you reacted the way you did the other night?"

"The other night?"

"When you were downstairs," he prompts slowly.

"I don't know," she whispers, "because that wasn't me. I mean … I just don't know," she repeats. "I'm sorry, Derek."

"What do you mean, _it wasn't you?_ " he asks, looking concerned.

"Derek … do you believe in magic?

"Don't try to distract me," he says.

"No, I'm serious. Because the thing is I … I'm not _losing my memory_ , not exactly, it's more like I have different memories. Like from a … different universe."

"A different universe," he repeats.

"I was somewhere else, Derek. I was different there and … so were you … but then I got here and this isn't really my life. It's another … another version of my life. But it's not mine."

He's staring at her. "That doesn't make any sense. Addison. Tell me you don't really believe that."

She sits still, silent, doubting her choice to share it. But what's the alternative? To let him think she's in a neurological crisis?

"Ask me – ask me something," she tries. "About our life. I won't know the answer."

"How could you possibly prove that?"

She sighs. "Just try."

"Fine. Uh. Where did I propose?" he asks.

"Wollman Rink." She can't help smiling at the memory. "Two days before Christmas. You were joking that the ring would cut the ice if you fell so you were holding back, and some tourists saw you getting down on one knee and started snapping pictures. Everyone applauded when I said yes, and you told me we'd end up in some photo album in Peoria…. –" She pauses, shaking her head a little to clear it. "That doesn't count, Derek, I was there for that."

"Addie … you were there for all of it," he says quietly.

"But I – please, Derek, ask me something from _later_ ," she encourages him.

"Later…"

"Something recent."

"Fine. What's – what's Nicky's favorite animal?"

"Bear," she says immediately. "But that's – not very hard to pick up. I mean, the hat alone." A brief memory of Nicky roaring realistically at Bizzy while waving his bear hat in her direction makes her smile.

 _I was there for that. That's my memory._

"Addie…"

" _Please_ , Derek. Something else. Something … older."

He sighs heavily. "Fine. What's – why was Ellie admitted to the hospital last year?"

"Gastro," Addison responds without thinking. "It moved through the house but … she was the smallest." She feels a little clench of fear, remembering how frightening it was – late winter, grey and foggy outside, Derek only half-recovered, Addison the strongest in the house. She was trying to tend to both children at once and then she panicked, a mother, not a doctor, when Ellie stopped taking liquids, and insisted that they –

She freezes.

Wait.

She wasn't there. How can she …

 _Bizzy, now's the time you choose to give me convenient memories?_

"Sounds like you remember pretty well," Derek says gently.

"But I don't." She hears her own helpless tone. "I don't belong here. I'm just here, and …" Her voice trails off. "You don't believe me," she accuses quietly.

"I don't believe you that you don't belong here, Addison. This is _our_ home. _Our_ life. Of course you belong here. I don't belong here without you. There is no us without you. There are no … children without you."

He draws breath after his speech.

"I know," she says softly, "which is why the other Addison-"

"Stop it," he raises his voice, just slightly, but enough to make her flinch. He notices and takes a deep breath, visibly calming himself, then rests a hand on her arm. "Addie … you're scaring me. This is more than a little … confusion."

"I'm sorry."

He's moving his thumb on her arm, soothing circles, and she concentrates on the sensation instead of the confusion of this world.

"All this to avoid an MRI?" he asks finally.

She sighs. "I'll get the MRI. If I can even get in this close to Christmas."

"It's not hard when you're friends with the head of neurosurgery."

 _Friends_.

She's confused. It's an odd way for Derek to refer to his wife of fourteen years.

And then she blinks, realizing what he means.

 _Derek's not the head of neuro._

Not here. Not in this world.

"Tucci," she says slowly, a question mark lingering in her voice.

"Who else?" Derek smiles. "He owes me."

Addison just stares.

 _Tucci._ She remembers him. Craig Tucci was Derek's only real competition, but the men were friendly from the first day of fellowship. Craig's wife was a doctor, too – a dermatologist with a successful private practice, Addison recalls.

The two couples were friendly – maybe not actual _friends_ , not like Savvy and Weiss, but they socialized before the Tuccis had children, even if they mostly spent the time talking shop.

Addison remembers clearly when Derek was given head of neuro. How many years ago now? Four? Five? Craig, always a good sport, supported Derek's victory, even if he was disappointed too.

But his wife, Sharon – this she remembers clearly – she pulled Addison aside to express relief. _I'm pregnant,_ she whispered, _and I haven't even told Craig yet because he was so nervous about the department head's race – but I don't know how I would have done if it if he worked even more than he does now. How can anyone work more than he does now?_ And Addison smiled with commiseration. Two-career marriages are difficult. They take work. That's what she would have said, felt, thought … then … right? Addison remembers her reaction, all appropriate: excitement for the pregnancy, agreement that – even on a doctor's scale – their husbands' hours in the lead-up to the department head decision were brutal.

There was pride, too. Pride because Derek won.

He wanted to win. And she wanted him to win.

And then she celebrated Derek, with flowers in his office and words whispered in his ear; there was a party, she recalls now, champagne toasts, knowing laughter, _he'll work even more now,_ and the chief of surgery's gaze skating over her, _now you can't refuse to let me put you up this year …_ and she caught Sharon's eye across the room, she remembers this, because she didn't refuse. She had no reason to refuse.

None at all.

"Addison."

She filters back to the present – or whatever this is – and Derek is holding her hand, looking worried again. "I'm fine," she says automatically.

"What were you thinking about?"

 _You._

She shakes her head, not sure how to put it into words.

"Whatever it is, we'll get through it," he tells her, pulling her close; she settles against him, sinking into the couch cushions and letting his strength hold her up. "Everything's going to be okay."

 _You have no idea how much I want to believe that._

…

Derek wasn't kidding about getting her in quickly. They eat breakfast early the next morning as a family –

 _A family._

Before her appointment.

"Why are your eggs so good?" Addison asks rhetorically, like she has so many times before, washing her words down with a sip of his trademark strong coffee. Of all the things Derek could do in the kitchen that she couldn't, it was scrambled eggs that used to mystify her – maybe because she tried a few times and they either burned or turned to congealed rubber.

"It's 'cause they're fluffy, like clouds," Nicky explains thoughtfully, swinging his legs. "Not _smushy_ , just fluffy."

"You would be a great food critic, Nickles," Derek says, reaching out to dab some milk from Ellie's little mouth. She giggles at the contact, then promptly reestablishes the mustache with her next sip.

"Mommy's eggs are good too," Nicky adds. "When they're like _this_ ," and his small hands move in the air in a way she can't quite comprehend.

"Sunny side up." Derek smiles at her. "I remember the first time you made those."

 _I don't._

But she smiles back at him anyway.

She finds herself checking the time nervously.

Derek sends the children to brush their teeth, reminding them he's taking them out.

"Why can't Mommy come with us?" Nicky asks. Ellie nods solemnly.

"Mommy has to take care of something this morning," Derek tells them. "So you're stuck with Daddy."

Ellie smiles at this.

"But then she's coming back," Nicky prods, half confidently and half warily.

"Of course," Derek says firmly, squeezing Addison's hand. She's not sure she can speak, so she just ruffles Nicky's soft brown hair with her free hand.

Ellie glances from one parent to the other. "When?" she asks. "Dinner time?"

"Before dinnertime," Derek reassures her. "You know what tonight is …" he prompts when the little girl doesn't respond.

Ellie's eyes widen. She exchanges a glance with her brother, climbs down from her chair, and trots to Derek's side. Then, cupping her hand for maximum secrecy, she whispers something in his ear.

He nods, and Ellie cheers happily in response.

Once she's exchanged kisses with the children, assured them of her prompt return, and lingered as long as she could in the hall closet, selecting a scarf, there's nothing left to do but leave.

"You're sure you don't want me to come with you?" Derek asks at the door.

 _No._

"Yes," she says firmly. "It's fine, Derek, really."

"Addie …"

She looks up.

"Thank you for doing this," he says softly.

…

"Addison. Great to see you." Craig Tucci has his doctor voice down pat, always has, sounding equal parts friendly and concerned. Even with her, and she's not a patient.

Well. Not exactly. They greeted each other with formal-social cheek kisses, exchanged a few pleasantries, and now she's sitting in his office at the satellite practice she remembers. It's all glass and sweeping views, that's the same, but he's older – she hasn't seen Craig Tucci since she left New York, and those three years are written on his face, crags she doesn't remember interfering with his even features. And written on his hairline too.

And his paunch. That's a surprise; Craig was a runner. And it's hard to imagine that Sharon, whose private practice catered to A Certain Clientele, would let his face wrinkle this much in his early forties.

She pauses. Unless that's different in this universe too.

"How's Sharon?" she asks as naturally as she can.

The face he makes in response stops her short and coalesces her thoughts all at once.

"How would I know?" Craig sighs. "She's still in DC with Hunter. _An offer she couldn't refuse_ and all that."

Addison's confusion must show on her face.

"And she still doesn't want a divorce," he adds apparently by way of explanation, though it doesn't help much. He picks up a picture frame on his desk and shakes his head at whatever it is he sees. "So I guess we're just going to keep diluting the assets until she changes her mind. Paying for a house in Arlington on top of everything else, she wants Hunter in some international immersion school. I haven't even seen him in three months." He pauses. "I thought you talked to Sharon recently."

"Right." Addison says quickly. "I, uh, I guess I don't really remember." She smiles weakly, figuring this provides the right transition.

"It's okay," he assures her. "We'll get to the bottom of this. First, I'm going to tell you three words. See if you can remember them."

She nods, accepting it.

"Apple," he says. "Engine. Breath."

Her own breath catches on the last word.

 _You still take my breath away._

A light shiver runs through her and she hears something far off, like the tinkling of bells.

"Addison …?"

"Why did you say that?" she demands.

"Why did I say what?"

" _Breath_."

Craig looks confused. "That's one of the three – "

"But why _that_ word?" Addison's mind is racing now.

Is Craig part of this too? The ghost of Christmas … something? It _can't_ be just a coincidence – but then she sees his puzzled, tired-looking face, laced with concern for her strange reaction, and she stops.

Exhales.

Tries to smile.

"Apple, engine, breath," she repeats dutifully, and he nods.

"So." He flips open his pad. "How long have you been experiencing symptoms?"

 _Since I tried to open the door to my beach house and ended up in a world that shouldn't exist at all._

"About a week."

He asks her describe them.

 _Universe shifting. Total reversal of the last six years of my life. Hallucinations?_

"Uh, I've been having trouble remembering things, I guess. Things I've done."

"What did you do yesterday?" he asks.

She smiles in spite of herself. "We went skating," she says, and she tells him about the rink, Ellie's tumble and quick recovery, tiring the children out enough that they fell asleep, and their plan to piece together and wrap presents once they had the house to themselves.

"You seem to remember that pretty clearly."

"Well, I was here," she says before she can stop herself.

"And you weren't here …"

" … before that," she mumbles. "Look, Craig … forget what I said. The thing is, Derek was worried, I told him I'd see you to make him feel better, but we don't have to do … this."

" _This_?"

"The … doctor stuff."

"Didn't you come here for _the doctor stuff?_ " he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "If you just wanted to catch up, we could have gone out for drinks. I owe Derek a beer anyway."

She smiles a little in spite of herself. Craig was a good guy, she remembers this. So what happened with him and Sharon? In this world of marriage where even Archer is legally wed, why couldn't this couple stay together?

He asks her a few more questions and she does her best to respond.

 _The thing is, if I told you what really happened … you'd never believe me. Forget brain tumor – I'd end up in a 72-hour hold._

"Derek's worried," she admits.

"But you're not?"

"No. I mean … I don't think there's anything wrong with my brain."

"Good." He flips closed the pad he was using to write. "Let's get some images just to make sure."

She nods, having expected this.

"Addison …"

"Apple, engine, breath," she repeats before he can ask.

He smiles, looking a little sad for some reason. "I was going to say Merry Christmas."

"Oh. Merry Christmas to you too."

…

There's no waiting.

Actually, she might have preferred to wait, but it feels like only moments before she's inside the chilly MRI exam room. She folds her arms and the nurse smiles at her sympathetically.

"I'll give you a blanket as soon as you're lying down," she assures Addison, helping her onto the table. She allows herself to be eased back until her head rests in the coil.

"You'll need to lie very still," the nurse reminds her.

"I know."

Addison opens her eyes as they're fitting the top half of the coil and sees Bizzy, so startled that she nearly bangs her head.

Before she can apologize to the nurse, the brunette is apologizing first.

"I'm so sorry," the nurse says. "I've just been paged – 911 – I'll be back as soon as I can. Will you be all right?"

She removes the cage.

"Press the buzzer if you need anything, all right? The techs are listening."

"Sure," Addison says distractedly, busy glaring at her mother, who is standing by the door in an impeccably tailored suit, looking characteristically unimpressed – and apparently invisible to everyone but Addison.

When the door closes behind the nurse, Addison makes her way, with some effort, up to her elbows and smooths down the hospital gown with as much dignity as she can.

Bizzy arches an eyebrow.

"I see you're making the best use of your time here, just like I encouraged," her mother says acidly.

"This is not exactly a great time to talk," Addison says through gritted teeth.

"Apparently not. You'd rather be playing house and ignoring your purpose for being here."

"My _purpose_?" Addison shakes her head, stung. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you are running out of time," Bizzy enunciates precisely. "While you're … braiding hair and pouring milk and reading bedtime stories, you're losing the opportunity you have to –"

"To what? To _what_ , Bizzy? Why won't you tell me?"

"Why did _you_ tell Derek?" she counters. "What could you possibly hope to accomplish?"

"Why did I tell him? He's my husband," Addison says. "Or – _her_ husband. I don't know," she says miserably, "and I didn't tell him. Mark did. But now Derek thinks I have a brain tumor. So that's great. Merry Christmas, everyone."

Bizzy looks as sympathetic toward her self-pitying speech as Addison could have expected.

That is … not at all.

"Maybe you do," her mother says.

She frowns. "Maybe I do what?"

"Maybe you do have a brain tumor," Bizzy says coolly. "Maybe none of the rest of it happened at all."

"That's … not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not! Because I remember it, Bizzy," she says impatiently. "You can put as many – false memories in my head as you want but you can't take away the real ones."

As if to reassure herself she plays them on high speed, every lonely moment from the first one where she turned to Mark, to the cold rainy steps where her marriage broke apart, to the little box of a trailer where she tried in turn to avoid and entice her husband while he treated her like a stranger.

She closes her eyes and she's signing divorce papers with false bravado, laughing, smirking, crossing her legs.

 _If you pretend it doesn't hurt, then it won't hurt._

That's what her mother always said.

And then she's standing in the wind releasing the rings she wore for eleven years, giving them to the sea. She's hanging around a city she never liked because she has nowhere else to go, feeling so desperate for change that she finally packs it in. She's standing in the rain again, this time on the beach, _it wasn't supposed to be like this,_ finding out California is no better than any place else – a bit sunnier, a bit warmer, just as lonely.

In the glare of the California sun she's trying desperately to forge a life out there, trying on a new self like clothing, hoping to reconnect with people who moved on without her, to avoid old patterns … but they find her.

They always find her.

The Captain is there, interrupting her life with his trademark terrible timing, and then her mother … Bizzy is there too, sunglasses to protect her from the west coast sun, arching an eyebrow of disapproval at Addison's new life. Bizzy is turning her life upside down, making her look back at the childhood she thought she finally understood.

And Bizzy is here _now_ , with an expression on her face Addison can't quite identify.

Which is strange.

Her mother's face is perfectly impassive at all times with only the smallest flicker of change to reflect mood or disapproval or – rarely – approval.

See, usually, she knows what it means, even if an outsider wouldn't.

But right now she doesn't.

"It's not a brain tumor," Addison says firmly. She's never been so sure of anything in her life.

 _Well … maybe one thing._

"No," Bizzy says quietly, "it's not a brain tumor."

"All right then." Addison settles as comfortably as possible into the ridged neck pillow, resting her head in the bottom half of the coil. "You should probably get going, Bizzy," she says.

She doesn't have to look at her mother to know she's wearing the same narrow gold wristwatch as always, or her wedding rings, or a necklace with a platinum lobster-claw. Addison gestures at the tube. "You do realize this is basically a giant magnet, right?"

"A _giant magnet_ ," Bizzy says, sounding almost amused. "All that money for a science degree and then for medical school. A giant magnet," she repeats, shaking her head.

Then she pauses.

"Be careful, Addison," she says quietly, sounding serious.

"Careful of what?"

Addison starts to sit up again, but Bizzy's gone.

 _Damn it._

And then the nurse is back, helping her get settled, fastening the cage-like coils over the top of her head. She tucks blankets around her – to Addison's relief; she's shivering – and then she closes her eyes as she feels herself sliding into the tube.

"Dr. Shepherd?"

The radiologist's voice is piped in; in spite of herself, she opens her eyes – to the tilted mirror that reveals the nurse is still in the room. She forces herself to relax.

"Are you ready to begin?" the tech's voice is piped in.

 _Actually, I'm not ready for any of this._

"Yes, thank you," she calls.

She tries to brace herself, remembering –

 _Clang … clang …_

How loud it is inside the tube.

There's a brief moment of silence, and then the next series of sounds is more like drilling. Her eyes fly open and the sides of the tube seem to press against her.

 _Clang_ … _clang_ …

She closes her eyes, and a memory that's not hers filters into her brain.

" _Mommy, look!" Nicky is smaller, and laughing, he's pulling the bell on an old-fashioned train car. She has Ellie on her hip, she recognizes the warm weight of her and the back of Derek's head. Nicky is waving eagerly, Ellie is giggling at his enthusiasm. She bounces on Addison's hip, she's too little to speak, and Addison kisses her little apple cheek._

She keeps her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

" _Mommy, don't go," Nicky is pleading, pulling at the hem of her coat. Addison is reassuring him she'll be back the next day, crouching down for extra hugs. Of course she'll be back. She'll always be back._

The drilling noise is back. She's reminded of jackhammers.

" _Mommy, he's got a yellow hat!" Nicky is shouting with glee to see the workers fixing a gas line; the man in question is operating a jackhammer that shakes him and the ground around him. Addison can't help but laugh; Nicky is deep in his construction phase, requesting his favorite book – Tommy Tacker Build a Town – at least once each night. Somehow over the noise, the workman hears him; he gives Nicky a wave with a protective-glove encased hand and her son is as thrilled as a personal reception with the pope._

A moment of silence.

" _Mommy!" Nicky is clinging to her, pouting, as she cradles a tiny Ellie in one arm to nurse. Derek is trying to help, but Nicky refuses to let go. She's exhausted, she hasn't slept since Ellie made her appearance to complete their family. Derek slides in next to her, supporting her and Ellie at the same time, so she can cradle her son with her free hand. "I'm right here," she tells him._

Then the clanging starts again.

" _Mommy," Nicky murmurs sleepily, cuddling close, fitting himself against her swollen midsection. She's getting so big but she still has room for him. She'll always have room for him. She falls asleep with him, exhausted from her pregnancy, and blinks awake to see Derek smiling down at her. "Go back to sleep," he murmurs, "everything's fine." So she closes her eyes._

"Dr. Shepherd?"

Her eyes open.

"You doing okay in there?"

"Fine," she calls.

"Good. You're almost finished, and then we can get you out of here."

 _But I don't want to get out of here._

She holds tightly to the memories she didn't get the first time around, and braces herself.

…

"Nice and slow," the nurse warns her, helping her off the table. She's only slightly woozy, gripping the side for a moment, and then she's fine.

Other than feeling short in her non-slip socks. There are sensible heeled boots waiting for her in the dressing room. Thanking the nurses and techs for their time, she opens the exam room door.

"Derek?" she asks incredulously.

"Hey." He leans in to kiss her cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm … fine. What are you doing here? Where are Nick and Ellie?"

"They're fine," Derek says quickly. "Savvy took them to Natural History with Rachel to say Merry Christmas to the dinosaurs. Nicky's request," he adds.

"So you came here?" she asks faintly.

"So I came here." He smiles at her. "I thought you might be hungry after all that. Lunch at Four Guys?"

 _Like we used to._

"Derek." Her voice cracks. "Don't you need to be – shouldn't you be – "

"I'm right where I'm supposed to be," he tells her simply.

In response, she just steps into his arms without thinking, holding on tightly.

She doesn't want to let go … and she doesn't want a reminder that she already did.

That they both did.

 _But why? How? We had this and then … we didn't. Why did we let it go?_

She can almost hear her mother's cool, judgmental tone: _Addison, dear, that's exactly what I've been trying to get you to figure out since you arrived._

But she hasn't figured it out. Not yet. And if she's honest – Bizzy's not completely wrong. _Playing house_ may not be the kindest phrasing, but she's loved every moment with these miraculous children, the ones she thought she'd never have. How can any time spent with them be wasted?

 _You're running out of time. It's almost Christmas._

She draws a deep breath, newly recommitted to figuring this out. She gets dressed, thinking about it. _Why did we let it go?_

She thinks about everything she knows that's different in this universe: the children, Bizzy's uncharacteristic tolerance of said children, Derek giving up department head – but that can't have been a _cause_ , because she would have already been heavily pregnant with Nicky by then. Did Derek step down from the race, and if so – why? _We haven't worked the week of Christmas in years._ But Derek would always go in for an interesting patient and, admittedly, so would she.

Perhaps it's true that part of her has been afraid to solve the mystery because she'd lose what she has.

Did the children change them? Or did they change to make room for the children?

She hears a faraway sound, gentle, like the tinkling of Christmas bells, as she draws back the curtain.

Emerging from the dressing room, she can't help smiling at the look on Derek's face – like he knows her, like he remembers her, like he never stopped loving her.

He reaches for her hand and she squeezes back; there's reassurance in his firm grip, comfort too.

"I'm ready," she says.

… _ready as I'll ever be, anyway._

* * *

 **To be continued. _Is Addison going to put together the pieces of the puzzle, or run out of time? And what's Derek's role in all this? Stay tuned for more. Please review and let me know what you think - I love hearing your thoughts, and it keeps me motivated to post more!_**


	14. Looking for Answers

_**A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter! This story started last summer, went through Christmas, and now here we are in January and it's still going. I'm sorry I made you wait so long for this update; here's an extra-long chapter to make up for it. I hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

 ** _Looking for Answers_**

* * *

"Refill, hon?"

"Yes, please." Addison sits back in the pink-leather booth and watches burned diner coffee splash into the heavy ceramic cup. Four Guys looks exactly the same as she remembers, and it's comfortingly familiar – timelessly unpretentious despite its address, with plastic-wrapped menus and silver napkin holders on beige-flecked ceramic tables.

She takes a sip, then reaches over to snag one of Derek's fries – which she knows he ordered for her; he would have taken the fruit cup if he was alone or if he didn't, she's pretty sure, feel sorry for her.

"Hey." He pretends to look affronted and she smiles a little.

"They're just going to waste," she reminds him, waving one of them close to his face and letting herself enjoy his company. "Unless you want some delicious grease for yourself …"

"That's generous, but I think I had enough grease in my burger."

Addison looks down at her own empty plate, a few crumbs dotting its surface. "I was hungry," she admits.

"Then I guess we came to the right place."

"Yeah." She takes another fry. "Um … Derek …"

But his phone rings then, interrupting them. He answers and she can see in his face that it must be Tucci's office. It must be her results. Of course they would have speeded them through.

He passes Addison the phone. "It's for you," he says.

Right.

"This is Dr. Shepherd," she says automatically, taking the phone. "Dr. Montgomery-Shepherd, yes," she amends at the prompt.

The results don't surprise her, but she can see in Derek's shoulders the relief that sweeps through him when she reports the all-clear.

And all _she_ feels is guilt, for putting him through this.

Guilt … and annoyance at her mother.

 _If you had explained things, Bizzy, maybe I wouldn't have ended up in an MRI tube._

Maybe she wouldn't have ended up here at all.

Derek reaches across the table for her hand. "How do you feel?" he asks.

"I feel fine, Derek. I told you." She tries to keep the impatience out of her voice, knowing that to Derek, this threat to her brain is all … very real. "And now we have proof that I'm fine, so … can we just forget about it? About the stuff I said?"

Derek looks uneasy.

"Please. I'm fine, honey, really." She squeezes his hand lightly. "And it's Christmas – "

 _You don't have much time. It's almost Christmas._

" – our season," she says softly.

He raises his eyes to hers. "I just want you to be okay," he admits.

"I know. I do too." She squeezes his hand again, more firmly this time. "And I feel good, really. Full … but good." She glances down at her empty plate.

"I've seen you put away far more than that," he points out, but she can see the corners of his mouth tugging upward toward a smile.

"Lucky you." She can't help grinning at him, feeling a little lighter herself knowing that she has proof her brain is fine.

When their dishes are cleared she finds herself glancing at him across the table, wondering what's next on the agenda.

"You were going to take the kids to meet Savvy and Rachel," he prompts her gently, "but you should rest. I can –"

"No, I want to take them," she says. "But, uh … take them where?"

..

She's in a cab with a thickly bundled child on either side of her, watching the frosty city blur past the windows, and smiling when she thinks of Derek's expression when he watched them all leave.

This, she is starting to realize, must be what they do. They spend time together, all four of them, _oh_ , such sweet time that she never knew could exist – but they also take turns shouldering both children so the other one can rest.

 _We used to look out for each other._

Except … even though now she has a name and an address, she's still confused … because what on earth is an indoor playground?

It turns out it's just what it sounds like.

And it sounds _loud_ , with the excitement of children who've been kept indoors during the cold snap, and the chatter of their adult chaperones. It smells like a mixture of pizza, coffee, and cotton candy, though she notes with a smile that there's a fully stocked salad bar in the café area as well.

Savvy greets her in the brightly colored entryway with a kiss on her cheek and hands her a paper coffee cup. A ponytailed Rachel is beaming at her side, gesturing frantically to Nicky and Ellie to join her.

Addison gazes up at the enormous, padded play structure, complete with netting to keep the children in.

"Do we …"

Savvy looks confused at her doubtful tone.

"You're kidding, right?"

She ushers Addison to comfortable leather chairs in the middle of the structure, with a good view of all sides of it so they can keep an eye on the children.

Addison's just waved to Ellie on her second circuit through what looks like an obstacle course of soft rings when she spies a familiar face approaching across the padded floor.

Is it …

"Nancy!" she exclaims with surprise when the woman gets closer and she confirms her suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"You told me you were going to be here today." Nancy looks confused as she leans over to kiss Addison on the cheek. "Don't you remember?"

 _I don't remember much of anything these days._

She smiles weakly at Nancy. "Of course I remember," she murmurs, hiding the flush in her cheeks as Nancy greets Savvy.

"Hi, Aunt Addie!" cries the little girl at Nancy's side.

"Hi, sweetheart. Hi, Gabe," she adds to Nancy's son, who is scowling – well, more like pouting, but she characterizes it in deference to what looks like a growth spurt.

"I'm too old for the indoor playground," he whines.

"Really. Then I must be _much_ too old." Nancy plucks the hat off his head. "And yet I'm still here. Go play with your cousins," she instructs, and with a loud sigh, he complies.

The dark haired little girl still hanging onto her mother's coat smiles shyly at Addison.

 _Ruby._

Addison smiles back at her niece, feeling her throat clench. Nancy's youngest was a difficult pregnancy – she came early, after a tough delivery by Addison herself. The last time she saw her, Ruby was three years old: small but fierce, with dark pigtails and twinkling blue eyes. Addison's mother-in-law used to say how much her tiny granddaughter reminded her of Amy as a child.

But that was in the old universe. Ruby must be … six now, though Addison notices she's smaller than Nicky, with dainty little hands and feet.

"Ruby, you've grown so much," she says softly.

"Since her birthday party?" Nancy raises an eyebrow. "Wait … is this a guilt trip for not going to Mom's last week? Did Mom put you up to this?"

"No," Addison says honestly. "I was just thinking how little she used to be."

Savvy's daughter Rachel runs off the slide just then and straight for the grownups. "Hi, Ruby!" she says enthusiastically. "Come play with us!"

Ruby beams at the other girl. If Addison's math is correct, Ruby must be at least a year older than Rachel, but Rachel is taller and bigger, and Ruby happily takes her proffered hand.

"Rachel is so sweet with Ruby," Nancy tells Savvy appreciatively.

"Sweet … bossy ….." Savvy smiles at Nancy. "Definitely one or the other."

Addison watches Rachel rejoining Nick and Ellie, propping her small hands on her hips, and then pointing at various parts of the playground.

"I wish Rachel would come over and boss my other kids around," Nancy says. "I could use the break."

Savvy sips her cappuccino. "Honestly, Nancy, I don't know how you do it. Just one exhausts me."

"Well, with Sam away at college, I'm down to four."

"Samantha's in college?" The words slip out before Addison can stop herself.

"Addie, is your coffee Irish?" Nancy shoots her a curious look as she re-crosses her legs. "Or was it some other Aunt Addie who visited Sam on campus last month when she was speaking at Harvard?"

 _Someone else … Nancypants, you have no idea how right you are._

"I just can't believe it, that's all," Addison says, trying to gather her dignity. "It feels like she was just born."

"It hasn't been the same down there since," Nancy sighs, pausing for a moment to let her words sink in before offering a wicked grin.

"Thank you for that image," Savvy says, grimacing. "Not all of us are OB-GYNs, you know."

"True." Nancy reaches for Addison's cup and takes a sip of her coffee. "It's a shame."

Addison swallows hard, knowing she can't ask for updates on the other nieces and nephews. Not when Nancy thinks she's been here all along.

She casts a sidelong glance at the woman who was her sister-in-law for eleven years. Nancy looks just the way she remembers from that last, brief visit in Seattle, mischievous expression over prominent cheekbones. They've spent so much time over the years.

And then …

 _I hurt all of you when I hurt Derek. And I lost all of you when I lost Derek._

"Nancy," Addison says tentatively, but her sister-in-law stands up and raises her voice.

"Gabriel!" she calls, propping her hands on her hips. "Get down from there!"

She turns to Addison. "Sorry. He's still climbing on the top of the slide and trying to get us thrown out of here." She rolls her eyes. "I swear, nine is the new terrible twos." She glances from Addison to Savvy. "I mean, not that you should worry. _Yours_ are angels. Mine … not so much."

"Ruby seems like an angel," Savvy points out.

"Ruby … is closer than the others," Nancy admits. There's a smile playing at the corner of her lips. Addison is used to Nancy complaining about her children. Complaining, Derek used to say, is how Nancy shows love.

Suddenly, without warning, Addison's eyes fill with tears.

She lowers her head to hide the wellspring of emotion - _no one will notice, it's fine._

"Addie? Are you okay?"

Two faces are looking at her with concern.

 _People notice things here._

"Yes, of course," she says quickly. "It's just so good to see you – both of you."

"Oh, Addie." Nancy looks surprised but a little touched too, and reaches out for a quick hug.

Addison swipes at her eyes, embarrassed. "You know how I get at Christmas," she offers weakly.

"I do know." She rests a hand on Addison's shoulder. "It always brings back memories for me, too, you know."

Memories.

She thinks of Nancy's words earlier.

 _Since Ruby's birthday party._

Something about it – the party? – is flicking at the corners of Addison's mind, like a memory that's trying to pop out.

Nancy doesn't know how lucky she is, Addison thinks ruefully, to be able to have her memories _brought back_ like it's nothing.

The moment of emotion passes quickly and then the three women relax together on the surprisingly comfortable seats, watching all five children burn off rounds of energy racing over the equipment – sometimes chatting, sometimes checking their devices for work emails or to check in with the other parents.

The children play with seemingly boundless energy until Ellie, a pout pursing her pink lips, drags her feet across the soft floor of the play area and then climbs into Addison's lap.

"Nicky's mean," she whines, threading her hand into Addison's sweater.

"He is? What did he do?"

"He's _too_ fast," Ellie complains.

"Ah." Addison strokes the little girl's soft hair, noting the way she slumps sleepily against her shoulder. "Are you getting tired, sweetheart?"

" _No_ ," Ellie says immediately, but Addison can tell she's drifting toward sleep.

Nancy gives her a knowing smile and Addison returns it, but her senses are consumed with the small girl cuddled against her, who's growing heavier as she starts to doze. Addison shifts slightly when one leg starts to feel stiff; in response, Ellie stirs and tightens her grip. "Stay," she pleads sleepily.

"I'm not going anywhere," Addison whispers to her, stroking her soft hair, and feels the child calm as she feels guilt pulse through her own veins.

 _Even though I don't deserve to be here … I still don't want to go anywhere._

..

Derek greets them at the door of the brownstone, where Nicky hugs his father's legs and surrenders his coat and winter accessories, then darts off toward the playroom.

"Did you have a good time?" Derek asks, leaning in for a kiss.

"We had a great time," Addison says, "a tiring time," she adds, gesturing to the sleeping little girl in her arms. Derek offers to carry her upstairs but Addison declines and does it herself. In the cheerily serene bedroom with stuffed animals on the bed and photographs of a happy family on the walls, she pauses while her daughter sleeps.

And glances at the framed birth announcement one more time.

 _Noel Adrienne Shepherd._

Their second Christmas baby.

Did they plan her? Was Nicky's conception a surprise, and then they wanted to give him a sibling? Or did they plan both of them?

And how is she supposed to figure this out on her own?

It's too bad she knows herself well enough to know she'd never keep a diary. Not when the first two decades of her life taught her that her private thoughts could always be used against her.

 _Other Addison, I hate what I'm putting you through, but I wish I could just figure out what you were thinking – oh, about six years ago._

She has to push the thought down, as she strokes a stray lock of reddish-brown hair away from Ellie's sleeping face. She knows the other Addison is the one who deserves to be here, who should be listening to her daughter's rhythmic slumbering breaths, observing the way her long lashes rest peacefully on her round cheeks.

But the thought of the woman who bore these children, who raised them up until _she_ crashed into their life, all alone in California just floods her with guilt.

 _Help me. Help me figure out why I'm here and then, even if I don't want to – god, I don't want to – I can give you back your life._

..

She finds the boys in the playroom, where she has to pause in the doorway to take in the scene: Derek and Nicky are sitting on the floor together, two dark heads bent with identical concentration, doing something complicated with a set of wooden train tracks.

"No, go here, 'cause then we can connect the bridge to – " Nicky is instructing but he stops talking when he spies Addison. "Mommy!"

"Hey." Addison kneels down beside him. "You look busy."

"Yeah, we're making a town." Nicky rests his head against her and she ruffles his soft dark hair.

Addison knows him well enough now to know that he _does not nap_ , but he looks sleepy when he draws back. She catches Derek's eye when she pulls back; he gives her a knowing look.

She helps them build for a few moments, enjoying the way Nicky enjoys having both parents to himself. When the little boy practically nods off over a locomotive, Derek tactfully suggests a story instead.

Neither one of them is surprised when Nicky falls asleep three quarters of the way through _Hank the Caboose._

"The indoor playground never fails," Derek observes quietly, after they've drawn a soft blanket over a sleeping Nicky and retired to the living room.

Addison thinks about the children's repeated, energetic circuits through the play structure. She's rather exhausted just recalling it.

"Nancy came too," she says, wondering for a brief moment if Derek knew all along.

But he looks mildly surprised. "She did? With the kids?"

"Gabe and Ruby." Addison remembers Ruby's cheeky little smile. She loved all her nieces and nephews, but she always had a soft spot for the ones she delivered.

"Was Gabe a terror?"

"No," Addison says, then can't help smiling at Derek's expression. "Well, not really."

He raises an eyebrow and she fills him in, and it's a hundred conversations about his sisters' children, their quirks and cuteness, the amusing things they say – it could be any time, any year.

Any part of their life together.

..

They've taken advantage of two napping children to wrap a few Christmas presents – behind the closed door of Derek's office, with the monitor on for Ellie and firm belief in the power of Nicky's lungs if he wakes up. Addison is taping up the corner of a new wooden coal-carrier when she hears Nick calling for them.

Derek slips out first to distract him while Addison puts on the last of the tape; and then she joins them to find a much more awake Nicky enthusiastically debating dinner ideas with his father.

"Pizza!" Nicky is saying happily when she approaches.

"Addie?" Derek glances at her. "What do you think?"

She glances at Nick's eager face. "Sure, let's order pizza."

Then she sees two pairs of blue eyes staring curiously at her underneath two caps of rumpled dark hair.

"Mommy, you're silly," Nicky tells her gently. "We're gonna _make_ pizza."

"Right. Of course." Addison glances at Derek, whose eyes are now reflecting a hint of concern. "I meant it's so delicious it might as well be from a restaurant," she offers lamely, feeling rewarded when Nicky – who may be bright but is still only five years old – beams in response.

..

"Santa's coming _really_ soon," Nicky informs them as he delicately picks a chunk of butternut squash off his pizza and eats it.

Addison's frankly impressed with the pizzas Derek and Nicky put together, crispy wheaty crusts and colorful chunks of vegetables and cheese that stretches perfectly with each bite.

Ellie is carefully stabbing her slice with her little pink-handled fork. She seems to like to remove all the toppings, take a few bites, and then put the toppings back on. It's the sort of _playing with your food_ Addison can't imagine at a dinner table of her youth – but then again she also can't imagine laughing with her parents or having them express genuine interest in her thoughts and questions.

"Does Santa like pizza?" Nicky asks.

Ellie pauses with a piece of broccoli halfway to her mouth, apparently curious about the answer.

Derek looks like he's fighting a smile. "He probably does, but I think he's better off with cookies and milk for Christmas Eve."

"Yeah, 'cause the pizza would get cold waiting for him," Nicky says thoughtfully.

"Right."

Both children have declared themselves _finished_ , taken a few last sips of milk, when Nick asks another question.

"What if it snows too much on Christmas and we can't get to the beach?"

Nicky's uncertain expression tugs at her heart.

 _My little worrier. This one takes after me._

She blinks at the thought – she knows he can't take after her; he only met her a week ago _–_ but he's so much a part of her anyway.

"It won't," Derek says, "not according to the weatherman. But if it does," he continues reassuringly, "then we'll have a great Christmas here in _this_ house."

Nicky doesn't look convinced, and glances at Addison for confirmation.

"Right," she says with as much conviction as she can.

Derek smiles at her.

 _We're a team. Here, in this house, we're a team._

"Let's clean up." Derek stands up, then holds out his hands to both children. "Can you carry your plates in, guys – there you go, El, hold it flat. I know Santa _really_ likes clean kitchens."

Derek waits until Nicky and Ellie have disappeared into the kitchen, and then turns to Addison with an expression that concerns her.

It's not helped by his audible inhale either.

"Addie…"

..

She pushes her hands deeply into the pockets of her warm wool coat, feeling the cold wind sting her exposed cheeks. Derek urged her to take a taxi even though she's only going nine short blocks, but she found some satisfaction in insisting on walking.

He said things like:

 _Highly recommended…_

 _Just one session…_

 _Maybe it will help…_

The psychiatrist's private practice is just down the street, that's what he assured her, blocks away, and she'd be back before the children's bedtime.

 _Humor_ _me_ , Derek said finally. _Please, Addie_.

And it was the _please_ that got her.

It's the _please_ that brings her to the heavy wooden door of the well-kept brownstone, tracing the embossed brass letters on the placard by the buzzer.

L. Carroll, M.D.

Dr. Carroll. Although she's fond of her sister-in-law, she's never been able to wrap her mind around going into psychiatry.

But she remembers _humor me, please, Addie,_ and she forces herself to press the buzzer, to keep her chin aloft until she finds herself sitting on a firm couch in shades of blue – of course it's blue, blue is _calming_ – in the dim light of Dr. Carroll's office, her warm winter gear hung carefully on the branches of an old-fashioned carved-wood coat tree.

He gives her an encouraging look, but doesn't speak.

Warm lamps cast a low glow across polished floorboards, oriental rugs, the ever-present noise machine. There's a plant in one corner – a basic green in a generic terra-cotta pot.

And there's silence.

A lot of silence.

She breaks it, finally.

"I'm not hallucinating," she says firmly. "Don't write down that I'm hallucinating. In fact – don't write down anything at all." She pauses. "You don't have to write anything down, do you?"

"I don't have to write anything down if it concerns you," Dr. Carroll says, looking at her with an unreadable expression in his spectacled eyes.

"It does concern me."

Addison waits for him to set down his pad and fussy faux-fountain pen and lean back in his chair.

"Dr. Shepherd …"

"Addison," she concedes.

"Addison. What brings you here tonight?"

"That's my question," she responds.

He nods encouragingly, apparently not put off by her cryptic answer.

"I mean … I don't know why I'm here," she amends.

"Tell me more about that," he suggests.

"You'll think I'm crazy," she can't help replying.

"I doubt it."

She glances around the room at his diplomas. He graduated Columbia ten years before they did. His beard is appropriate salt-and-pepper. He's obviously experienced and – even in his posh upper east side office, he's surely heard worse than what she's about to say.

"Our conversation … is confidential," she confirms slowly. "Right?"

"That's right."

"You can't tell my husband what I say?"

"That's right."

"You can't tell anyone what I say," she challenges carefully.

"Not unless you're an imminent danger to yourself or others."

She pauses. "Oh."

"Physical danger," he says. "It's a narrow exception with a high threshold requirement. Very high."

"How high?"

"High," he assures her. "I haven't had to use it yet."

She considers this. "So just – being crazy – isn't enough of a threshold?"

"If it were, Dr. Shepherd … I would have used it a great number of times."

She finds herself smiling. "Okay."

"Does that help you feel more comfortable speaking with me?"

 _Stop shrinking me._

She doesn't respond, just draws a deep breath and re-crosses her legs.

 _Here goes._

"Like I said … I don't belong here," she tells him.

He nods.

"I come from somewhere else. I mean … a different universe. Parallel, if you will." She pauses, trying to gauge whether he's about to call in a 72-hour hold. But he looks utterly unfazed.

"I'm not supposed to be here." She glances at him again. "I'm not – do you hear what I'm saying?"

"I hear you saying you feel you don't belong here," Dr. Carroll echoes.

"It's not a _feeling_ , it's the truth." She sighs. "Okay, look. This isn't real. This isn't my life. I left Manhattan three years ago."

Silence.

It's obviously a technique, and she's kicking herself for falling for it, but it's also sort of a relief to _say_ these things, and before she can help herself, they're tumbling out in a cacophony of barely-connected words.

"I slept with my husband's best friend and he walked in on us and moved across the country and I followed him there and tried to reconcile but I didn't tell him everything and he met someone there and never really wanted to work on our marriage and then he slept with her again and I called Mark – that's my husband's best friend," she clarifies quickly, "and he came out to Seattle and then he actually moved out there and I screwed things up with him too and I didn't know where else to go. I slept with an intern," she says abruptly, cheeks coloring with shame. "And then I left and moved to California and I thought things would be different there but they're not different. I'm still alone. I was alone before I left Manhattan."

She feels tears in her eyes; subtly, he moves a pale green box of tissues closer to her and she takes one.

"My parents showed up in California and they told me – they _lied_ to me. Everything I thought I knew about my childhood, about love and marriage and fidelity and commitment … it was all a lie and for _nothing._ " She pauses to wipe her eyes. "And then I saw them off at the airport and drove home. And that's when it all started."

"When what started?"

"This." She gestures around her. "I opened the door to my house in California, but I wasn't there. I was here. In this … world that shouldn't exist. Still married to Derek, but different … better," she realizes, "because we're … good. Happy. And we have children." She has to pause again to wipe her eyes. "Perfect children. Perfectly imperfect. We have a family. And I don't deserve any of it, it's not my life, but I have no idea how to … what I'm supposed to do."

For a long moment all she hears in the room is the soft clang of the old-fashioned radiator and her own damp breaths as she tries to control herself.

"Now do you think I'm crazy?" She glances at Dr. Carroll.

"I don't think you're crazy," he says.

She raises her eyebrows. "Were you listening?"

"I was listening." He strokes his beard thoughtfully. "It's not unusual for a woman your age to feel … displaced."

"Displaced?"

"Like they don't belong."

She sighs. "You don't understand. This isn't supposed to be my life."

"Feeling that way isn't unusual either," he says.

She doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't realize that what's happening to her is about as unusual as it gets.

She knew he wouldn't.

And yet … she still feels a little bit lighter from having shared it.

 _Maybe there's something to therapy after all._

She takes a deep breath.

"You're a shrink," she says, not caring about the terminology. "So if you want to help me … then tell me. Where did I go wrong last time?"

"Last time?"

"When I lived here before," she says impatiently. "When this was my life. When Derek and I were married. _I_ screwed up, and the Addison who belongs here didn't."

"The Addison who belongs here," he repeats.

"Right. The one who's still married to Derek, the one who has two children and lives in my old house."

"Where is she now?" Dr. Carroll asks.

"Stuck in my life in California, I guess." Addison looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers slightly. Her left hand is decorated with Derek's rings. When did they reappear? Outside the door, that first confusing night? Did they reattach when she crossed the threshold?

 _How is this my life?_

Oh, right.

It isn't.

"She's stuck in my life in California," Addison repeats, "probably missing her family and wondering how I screwed everything up so badly and trying to make sense of the … mess my life is now. My real life. It's not fair to her."

"You feel that it's not fair."

She sighs at his shrinky tone. "I know it's not fair."

"You feel protective of this … other version of yourself."

She ignores his comment. "Can you just tell me how to fix it?

"That depends on what you mean by _fix it._ "

"Bizzy – my mother – says I need to figure it out by Christmas, which is … almost here." She looks up at Dr. Carroll. If he's faking not being horrified by her tale, he's doing a pretty impressive job. "I'm pretty sure I need to figure out what I did wrong last time and I don't know how," she admits.

"You're looking for answers."

"Right."

"If you're looking for answers, Addison," the psychiatrist says, "sometimes … it helps to ask questions."

"I have been asking questions."

"Then perhaps different questions," he suggests.

She considers this.

"I'm afraid our time has come to an end," Dr. Carroll says gently, glancing at the clock on the wall.

 _Yeah … that's what I'm afraid of too._

..

"Mommy's home!"

Nicky barrels toward her in his flannel Christmas pajamas, a brightly colored blur. It's not lost on her that those are the same words she heard in his sweet voice on her first night in this new world. She squats in the foyer to catch him before she takes off her coat.

He pulls back when she stands up with the little boy in her arms. "You're _freezing_!" he says with wonder, touching the wool fabric at her shoulders. He rests a warm hand on either side of the chilled skin on her face. "Is it snowing?" he asks eagerly.

"No, it's just cold out there." She kisses his cheek. "But it's nice and toasty in here."

"Yeah. Will you read to me?"

Derek approaches before she can respond, the telltale creak on the stair giving him away. "Hey, he says. His eyes are shadowed – guilt? concern? – and he's holding a sleepy-looking Ellie, who perks up and bounces with excitement when she sees Addison.

"Mommy!"

Derek smiles at her enthusiasm and then turns back to Addison, searching her face.

"Nickles … come upstairs with me and let Mommy take her coat off," Derek suggests.

"I want Mommy to read to me," Nicky protests.

"Then we should definitely let her take her coat off." Derek holds a hand out to his son.

Nicky considers this and then wriggles down from Addison's arms and joins his father. He turns back with a foot held aloft over the first stair.

"You're gonna come upstairs too, right?" he asks Addison.

"I'll be there," she assures him. "I promise."

..

Perhaps the most remarkable part of this remarkable world is how _unremarkable_ it's starting to feel. The children's nighttime routine feels natural, their warm little flannel-clad bodies cuddled up to hers as she reads, their reverentially-whispered questions, their small hands turning the pages, their deep sleepy breathing as they drift into slumber.

Watching them, with Derek, the way his hand fits around her waist.

 _We made them._

They slip out the door quietly, closing latches with care to make sure they don't wake the children.

"Addie," he begins quietly as they stand together in the hallway, but the guilty expression in his eyes makes her interrupt.

"It was fine," she assures him.

"Really?"

"Really."

Derek looks relieved as he pulls her into his arms.

It's mostly true, she acknowledges, as she rests her cheek against his shoulder. The psychiatrist didn't try to medicate her – or worse. And there was something liberating about _saying_ everything.

Of course, now she's back in the brownstone, in this life that shouldn't feel so comfortable, so right, and she has no idea what _questions_ she's supposed to be asking.

The one person with answers seems to show up only on her own whim. The more she thinks about how non forthcoming she's been … the more annoyed she feels.

And then Nicky's panicked voice calls to them through his closed bedroom door before she has to figure out what to do next.

"Daddy!"

"I've got this." Derek pulls back, nodding toward the door, and gives her a quick kiss. "Go relax … have a drink … you look like you need it."

He's probably not wrong.

But relaxing isn't on the agenda, because no sooner has she ventured to the wine fridge than she hears a familiar voice in the empty dining room.

"You'll find it's locked."

She doesn't have to turn around to know who it is.

Or that she's right; it's locked.

Damn it.

Addison tugs on the door a few times anyway, then locates the keypad. "Fine. Tell me the combination, since you know everything."

She doesn't bother to hide the irritation in her voice.

"No one knows everything, dear."

One of Bizzy's hands is on her hip when Addison finally turns around, one of her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. _Your tone, dear._ She doesn't have to say it. And Addison doesn't have to respond to it. She's exhausted, raw from her hour of honesty in Dr. Carroll's office, worn out from the days of confusion in this new world.

"I'm tired, and I need a drink."

Bizzy studies her face for a moment. "One-two-two-five-zero-three," she says.

Addison taps the numbers in and hears an automatic click and release; opening the door, she selects a bottle that suggests, thankfully, that the other Addison still has her taste in wine; she ignores her mother until she's located a complicated-looking corkscrew and two glasses – she still has manners, after all.

Bizzy takes a tentative sip. "You always did like your big reds," she says mildly.

Addison lets the thinly veiled critique roll over her.

She's stuck on the code for the wine fridge.

"Twelve twenty-five oh-three," she repeats. 12/25/03. Christmas 2003. "That's the Christmas when Nicky …" Her voice trails off as she makes the connection. _Conceived_ just feels too …

"There's no need to be graphic," Bizzy says, apparently thinking the same thing she is.

 _It's almost Christmas._

Why that date? Why not Ellie's, or their wedding anniversary, one of their birthdays, _any_ of their birthdays?

She takes another welcome long sip of wine, and then another.

"A lady doesn't gulp her drink, Addison."

"I'm not a lady."

"Apparently not. We did do our best," Bizzy says wryly.

"Did you?" Addison's not sure if it's the wine loosening her tongue or the hour of laying it all out on the table in Dr. Carroll's office. "When did you do that?"

For a moment the room is quiet and Addison almost regrets her words. Then she draws a deep, calming breath. "Bizzy … you could just … tell me why I'm here."

"I suppose I could." Bizzy sounds unruffled. "If I thought it would help."

" _If you thought it would … ._ " She shakes her head, feeling frustration start to course through her again. "You want me to figure things out, fine, but you could at least give me some more to go on. Like how you're here, in my dining room, right now. What do you tell Thea when you take off like this? Or is some – other version of you still there?"

She pauses, shuddering slightly at the image of a ghostly Bizzy wandering around the Connecticut farmhouse.

Something flickers in Bizzy's eyes at the word _Thea_ , and Addison takes a step forward. "What does Thea know about – all of this? Anything?"

Bizzy doesn't answer.

"How did you two even …? You barely knew each other." Addison tries to recall the Walcotts from her childhood. Other than Pippa with her long, shiny blonde hair – and her disappearance from school – she can't summon any more images.

 _If you're looking for answers, sometimes it helps to ask questions._

"They left town so quickly. Here one day, and gone the next." Addison pauses. "Bizzy – why did they leave town like that?"

Her mother's mouth is a straight, unamused line. "That's not relevant."

"Maybe it is. I wouldn't know, because you won't tell me anything." She closes her eyes briefly. "Something must have happened, for them to leave like that. Something that's different here. Something big enough to … Bizzy?"

Her mother's face has gone from tense to pained. Immediately, she regrets what she said.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly. "I didn't mean to – "

"Yes, you did," her mother says. "Of course you did. But I suppose I did tell you to try to figure things out."

Bizzy pauses to take a long, fortifying sip of wine and Addison forces herself not to say _a lady doesn't gulp her drink._

"You know Thea and I … knew each other socially, when she lived in Greenwich. When you were a child."

Addison nods.

"We had common interests."

All the society wives did.

But Bizzy's expression makes her realize what she means.

"She was a lesbian," Addison realizes. "Then too, I mean."

Bizzy nods.

"But she was married … to a man."

"It was Connecticut," Bizzy says simply.

Addison thinks about this. "And you knew? In the other world, I mean."

Bizzy nods again.

"How did you know?" Addison persists. "Did you – did you talk about it?"

"I didn't talk about it. I did anything I could _not_ to talk about it." Bizzy's gaze is distant. "She … was perceptive, Thea, and she picked up on it by herself."

"Did you …"

"No." Bizzy shakes her head. "Not really. It was too dangerous."

"She wanted to be with you," Addison proposes.

"Don't be vulgar, Addison." Bizzy frowns. "But yes, I suppose you could say she … showed an interest. She wanted to _talk_ about things, she had some idea that we could – she was naïve, and she didn't realize what she was risking."

"What happened?"

"People found out … what she was," Bizzy says simply. "Others. It was dreadful, as I knew it would be. There were threats. They had no choice but to leave the way they did."

Addison feels a lump in her throat. Thea – Mrs. Walcott – who was so loving to Nicky and Ellie, so welcoming to Addison and Derek, Thea who raised the kind little girl Addison remembers from her childhood in Greenwich.

Driven out of town.

No wonder they left so quickly.

The pain in her mother's face makes it all clear. The hiding, the secrets.

"Oh, Bizzy," she breathes. "That's why you thought it would ruin your life. If you were honest. Because it ruined Thea's."

Very slightly, her mother nods.

The cruelty of Bizzy's closed society strikes her. "But how did everyone find out?" she asks. "Did Thea talk about it with other people too?"

Her mother doesn't say anything, but she recognizes something in the pained set of her jaw.

Addison's throat tightens as she realizes.

"Bizzy … no. You didn't."

Bizzy is staring straight ahead, her fingers worrying the fabric of her scarf. "I did what I had to do," she says woodenly. "I was protecting you and your brother and your father."

"No." Addison shakes her head, thinking of Pippa's friendly little face, of how the other girls whispered when her family left town so quickly, of how kindly the Mrs. Walcott of this universe – Thea – has adopted Addison's children as her own grandchildren. "Don't put it on us, Bizzy. That's not fair. You were protecting yourself."

"I know that!" her mother snaps. "Don't you think I know that? She _saw_ me. Thea saw me, and I knew if I didn't make it go away – then the others would do to me what I did to her."

Addison just stands there, frozen.

Her mother had a chance at happiness in the other world. Happiness, and honesty, but she didn't take it.

"Bizzy."

Bizzy doesn't look at her.

 _Our choices are all we have, in the end._

"Mother," Addison says firmly, attempting not to notice Bizzy's wince at the term. At least it got her attention. "Is that what's going on here? You made a choice, and you're trying to right it?"

She's silent.

"But this is my … dream," Addison says tentatively, glancing around the room.

"It's not a dream."

"Fine." Addison takes another sip of wine. "Whatever this is, _I_ still have to figure out what's going on? It's still on me?"

Bizzy nods.

"And you can't give me a hint…"

"I've given you so many hints, Addison. I've tried to help you. You just haven't been listening."

"Haven't been listening?" Addison is taken aback. "I've listened to everything you've said." The unfairness rocks her. "You weren't really trying to help me," she breathes. "You don't care what happens to me. This is about you, and your mistakes – "

"No. You still don't understand."

" _Yes._ " Addison feels daring, reckless enough to contradict her mother.

"I told you not to involve Derek, and you didn't listen," Bizzy says, her voice tight. "I told you that would just – "

"Maybe you were wrong." Addison shakes her head, not caring that you don't interrupt Beatrice Forbes Montgomery and you certainly don't tell her that she's _wrong._ "Maybe I do need to involve Derek. Maybe that was the problem last time – not involving him."

 _Not involving_ gets her lonely nights, bad choices, a cross-country move, an empty bed.

"Addison," Bizzy says sharply. "I have been trying to help you from the beginning."

"No. I don't know what you've been trying to do, but it's not helping me. You've never tried to help me."

"Addison."

"No! I'm done talking to know what it's gotten me? Nothing. _Nothing._ I'm sick of your little games and not giving me any of the information I need, putting things in my head so – I'm done," she says, breathing hard. "I've been so stupid, I should have known not to trust you."

" _Addison_."

She ignores her mother. She can't stop now, even though she can scarcely believe her own words.

"I'm done, Bizzy. Just like in the real universe, all you do is make my life worse."

Bizzy's face is a cold, set mask, but Addison keeps going.

"Thanks to you I'm probably going to end up committed and these poor kids still won't get their real mother back, she's stuck in my crappy life in California that you and the Captain blew up and everything is – just _go_. Go! I don't want to talk to you anymore."

She blinks and, just like that, Bizzy's gone.

Only a trace of her recognizable perfume remains, along with the very faint tinkling of what sound like Christmas bells.

Addison glances around the empty dining room that's both familiar and brand new, from the wedding portrait on the wall she recognizes to the childish ceramic handprints she doesn't.

Suddenly, she feels very lonely.

And not a little frightened.

Because the only person who has any idea what she's doing here – the only person who can possibly answer her questions – is probably never going to speak to her again after her outburst.

 _Nice work, Addie._

* * *

 ** _To be continued, of course. One step - or puzzle piece - forward, a couple back? If you're paying really close attention, maybe you're putting some of the pieces together too. I love hearing your thoughts and I hope you will continue sharing them with me, so please review! xoxo_**


	15. Homes

**A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews on the last chapter! I am so happy you're enjoying this story. I am enjoying writing it, especially the mixture of mystery and fluff (mysterious fluff?). I am working on updating all my WIPs. This story only has a few chapters left (I know, famous last words, but I do actually mean it this time). That said, I'm pretty excited to share them with you. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!**

* * *

 _ **Homes**_

* * *

After Bizzy's disappearance – which might as well have concluded with a puff of smoke, for all of its combined magic and finality – Addison stands in the dining room alone, her throat too tight to sip from the glass of wine she desperately needs.

She still has questions. So many questions.

But the person with the answers is gone.

She finds herself turning in a slow circle as if the walls can tell her something – but all they do is send captured history smiling down at her in the form of photographs. It's welcoming, she thinks, the children's frozen giggles in candid framed snaps, the young couple's nervous grins in posed wedding portraits. Yet at the same time they almost seem to mock her.

 _This isn't your life._

 _You don't belong here._

"Addison?"

"Derek." She clears her throat, not realizing he entered the room. "How's Nicky?"

"He's fine. He's sleeping again."

"Bad dream?"

Derek nods, then sees her glass of wine. "Is there room in there for two?"

She smiles at him, offering him a sip, but he seems to see something in her eyes because he sets the glass down untouched. "Addie … what's wrong?'

"Nothing," she says as reassuringly as she can.

"Was it the counselor?" He looks worried.

"No. The counselor was fine. Really," she adds. "It was … nice to talk to someone," she says, and in an odd way it's true. Dr. Carroll may not have _gotten_ it, but he certainly didn't seem shocked by anything she said. And maybe there's some value to saying things out loud.

Maybe she didn't do it enough when she was married the first time.

"Something else?" He touches her arm lightly. "Addie, talk to me."

"Derek," she begins tentatively.

But interrupted by a cry from upstairs.

"Nicky," Derek says, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe he wasn't fully asleep when I left. Let me just go – "

"No," Addison puts a hand on his arm. "I'll go."

..

"Nicky?" Addison pushes open the door, which is slightly cracked; in the light from the hallway she sees the little boy sitting up in bed, dark hair rumpled from sleep, face streaked with tears.

"Mommy," he whimpers, holding out his arms. The word hits her hard, even now, in this universe, where she hears it so often.

She sinks onto the bed, pulling him close. He's still half-asleep, it seems, falling heavily onto her, and his warm trusting weight breaks her heart.

 _Why couldn't I have been the Addison who deserves these children? Why couldn't I have done what she did?_

There's no time for self-pity. Her senses are consumed with the whimpering little boy, as he buries his hot face in her shoulder and clings with small but strong fingers to the fabric of her shirt **.** She strokes his soft hair rhythmically, whispering to him until he calms down.

He leans back, still seated in her lap, and gazes up at her.

"What happened, sweetheart? Did you have a bad dream?"

He nods slowly.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Bear," Nicky says softly, his voice still tearful. "I dreamed that Bear couldn't get home for Christmas."

"From the book," Addison realizes, remembering the story Derek read to their children on her first night in this world, the one she read the next time. Nicky's favorite. _Bear Gets Home for Christmas._

Nicky nods.

"But Bear does get home in the end," she reminds him gently, "remember?"

"Not in my dream." Nicky rubs at his eyes. "He couldn't get home, Mommy. He was stuck. He was stuck in the wrong place."

"Stuck," Addison repeats. "That sounds scary, sweetheart. I'm sorry you dreamed that."

"Yeah." Nicky leans against her, apparently in no hurry to get back under the covers.

"Do you want to lie down, and I'll – "

"No," he says immediately.

" – read you the story?" she finishes. "So you can remember it has a happy ending."

"Oh." Nicky lifts his head from her shoulder and nods solemnly. "Okay."

It's easy to find the book on the shelf, with its shiny red and green cover that already looks familiar. She turns on the little bear-shaped light on her son's nightstand and then settles in beside him. Nicky cuddles against her, looking like he's fighting sleep as he helps her turn the pages.

"Bear liked the mountains. They were snowy and nice to climb," she reads. "And he liked his new friends, the goats."

"But Bear missed his forest friends. And then Bear said, 'this isn't my home,' and he knew that he had to move on."

She's reading softly, hoping to lull Nicky to sleep, but the words feel thick in her throat.

 _This isn't my home._

"Mommy … " Nicky pats her arm with one small hand. "Keep reading."

"Sorry." She smooths his hair and returns to the book. "Bear liked the rain forest," she reads.

She turns the last page almost reluctantly, with the same feeling she had the last time she read this story – half-hoping it will be different this time, and Bear will settle into his new home.

But no, Bear finds the sled just like always.

And goes back to the forest where he belongs.

"And he got home in time for Christmas," Addison reads. She pauses, wondering if Nicky has fallen asleep.

When he doesn't respond, she closes the book quietly, and then eases the sleeping little boy as carefully as possible away from her and down onto his pillows. For a moment, she stands above him, just watching him sleep. He looks peaceful now, the tearstains gone from his soft cheeks, dark lashes fluttering softly, a hank of hair resting across his forehead so much like his father's that it takes his breath away.

Adjusting the covers gently around him, she prepares to leave, pausing to send him a silent wish for sweet dreams before she flicks off the bear-shaped lamp on his nightstand.

She's halfway across the soft blue rug when she hears his voice, sleepy but distinct in the darkened room: "Mommy?"

Swiftly, she returns to his side. "Go to sleep, Nicky," she urges softly, "everything's okay. You're going to have good dreams now."

"I am?" His voice is soft with wonder, like he's half-asleep.

"You are."

He stretches out one little hand and she can't help but take it in her own, sitting down on the side of his bed. "Close your eyes," she whispers.

His lashes flutter, then open again. "Mommy … are you home?"

The question confuses her. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

"Are you home?" he asks her again. His eyes widen. "Is this your home?"

She feels her heart thumping against her chest. He's falling asleep, she reminds herself, fresh off a nightmare and another repetition of his favorite book.

But then she remembers the weathered man wrapped in a battered sleeping bag, the one Mark handed a hot breakfast sandwich the morning they went indoor-fishing. The strange man who looked frightened when he saw her. Like he'd seen a ghost. _You don't belong here,_ he said. _You're not supposed to be here._

A shiver runs through her as she recalls the eerie encounter.

 _No, she's wrong_ , he protested. _Can't you see it? She's the wrong one._

Mark urged her that morning to disregard the man's accusations, but then Mark didn't understand the truth of them. Is there something to her, here in this universe, that some people can see? If their own worlds are altered, by disturbance or sleep or …

… or she's been here so long her disguise is starting to wear off, her own self shining through? Is Nicky just the first one to notice? Will everyone see that she's an impostor?

Derek … will he know she's not really his wife?

"Mommy," Nicky squeezes her hand.

"I'm right here, baby." The urge to comfort him feels instinctual. Primal, even. She lies down next to him, bringing her legs up onto the mattress and Nicky curls into her, his breath warm on her neck as she holds him close.

"Don't go away," he whispers against her skin.

"Okay, I won't." She strokes his soft hair. "I'll stay right here."

Her assurance seems to calm him, even as it floods her with guilt.

 _Addie, what are you doing?_

Nicky's body seems to grow heavier as he relaxes, until his deep, even breathing makes clear he's fallen asleep.

She waits, not wanting to pull away too quickly after assuring him she wouldn't leave. She'll just stay a few minutes, until she's certain he's sleeping deeply. It's peaceful here in the quiet darkness, her head resting on Nicky's soft pillow – cozy without being too warm. Slowly, she feels her own eyes closing.

..

"Addie…"

She hears her name in a whisper. Derek, waking her up … maybe she didn't hear the alarm. "Five minutes," she murmurs, and feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Wake up, Addison."

"Tired," she mumbles as she forces her eyes open. She's in bed – no, not her bed, someplace unfamiliar. Someone else's bed – smaller and narrow –

For one panicked moment, she fears she's back in Seattle.

But no, it's too warm and peaceful to be the chilly trailer she's tried to forget. It's soft and comfortable and smells of baby shampoo and something else, something clean and healthy and growing.

There's a sleeping child in her arms, breathing rhythmically. And Derek is leaning over her, reaching for her.

She's not in Seattle. Not at all.

Confused, still feeling half-asleep, she nonetheless smiles up at Derek – it's instinctual, his face looks soft, loving, in a way she almost can't remember. Wherever she is, whatever's happening, it feels …

It feels good.

Cozy.

Like she's home.

"Addie," he's whispering, "let me help you."

It's dark in the room but somehow she can see his eyes perfectly. They're terribly soft, his head cocked. _I'd know you anywhere_ , that's what she can't help thinking.

She extends her hand sleepily so he can help her stand up.

"No, I mean _help_ you." His face looks so serious she's not sure how to respond. "Let me help you, Addie. Let me help you remember."

..

"Addie..."

She hears her name in a whisper. Derek, waking her up … maybe she didn't hear the alarm. "Five minutes," she murmurs, and feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Wake up, Addison."

"Tired," she mumbles as she forces her eyes open.

She feels sleep-dizzy, underwater, with a discomfiting sense she's done this before.

But then she focuses on Derek, leaning over her, reaching for her. His voice is soothing when he speaks her name again.

Slowly, she comes back to the present, to the rhythmic breaths of the little boy cuddled up to her, fast asleep.

 _Mine_ , that's her first instinctual response, silent, when she sees him. Only for a moment, before she remembers.

Nicky is sleeping peacefully, his softly moving lashes and little half-smile suggesting sweet dreams found him this time – for which she's profoundly grateful.

"He's out," Derek whispers. Leaning over them, he pauses to brush Addison's cheek with a kiss. Then he's carefully – oh, so slowly and carefully – lifting Nicky away from her and settling him on his pillow. Then he offers his hand and Addison slips her own into it.

One gentle tug and she's standing.

Another and she's following him across the soft blue rug, the quietly creaking hardwood, and then he's closing the door behind them.

"You looked so peaceful. I hated to wake you," Derek admits. "But you know that crick you get in your neck when you sleep in that bed."

 _I don't, but I wish I did._

She feels his hand on her cheek, lightly moving strands of hair away from her face. "Let's go to sleep," he suggests.

"But the gifts…" She gestures downstairs.

"We can wrap tomorrow."

"Will there be enough time?" Her heart thumps, because unfortunately she knows the answer to her own question.

 _There's never enough time._

Despite her fears about Nicky's worrying comments, Derek doesn't seem to think anything is different about her. His face is open, present.

How did she give this up? How did they let each other go, when being together still feels so _right_?

"Honey." She touches his arm. "Let's go downstairs."

..

She remembers.

The Derek who sits across from her on the floor of his office, door locked just in case, baby monitor perched on the desk in case their children need them – the Derek who grins when he finds himself surrounded by the unlabeled parts of Nicky's complicated garage – the Derek who tosses her the instructions and then laughs helplessly when she reads them in French …

She remembers him.

He's _her_ Derek.

She sends a brief apology into the universe – or rather, across the universe, to the other Addison.

 _I know he's yours, but he's … mine too._

He's the same Derek who would laugh with her when they wrapped presents for his nieces and nephews, Christmas carols piping over the sound system, who would sit across from her on the floor of her student apartment and trade off quizzing each other with anatomy flashcards. His laugh is the same. His focus, the way his eyes look even bluer when he's thinking about something … she remembers this.

She remembers him.

This isn't really a revelation, she has to remind herself, as she sits back on her heels, giving Derek a reassuring look as she does so (because he's so aware of her here, like he used to be – watching her, noticing her, _present_ ). She's the one who doesn't belong in this universe. Derek is Derek, or he should be.

But this version of Derek is far from the one who left her in New York, the one who left her again in Seattle, the one who didn't seem to notice when she left Seattle for New York. They never said goodbye, but she recalls thinking as the wheels pulled up on the jet taking her to her new life that in some ways the last few years of their failed marriage had been one long, painful goodbye.

Still, this version of Derek isn't unfamiliar. He's the man she married. Purchased this brownstone with. Filled it with furniture and hopes for the future.

Maybe she's not the only one who zigged where this Addison zagged. Her Derek, the one in Seattle – did he make choices too?

She reviews the unsettling experience of waking up in Nicky's bed to see Derek leaning over her, only to wake up again under the same circumstances. One was a dream.

Or was it?

Or is all of this a dream?

But if she squints she can recall that dream-Derek's words:

 _Let me help you, Addie. Let me help you remember._

Her own words to Bizzy flash through her head: _Maybe I do need to involve Derek. Maybe that was the problem last time – not involving him._

"Addie?"

She glances up. He's smiling at her with a hint of concern in his eyes. "We're done," he says.

Following his gaze, she realizes the multi-truck garage is complete.

" _We_ ," she teases him instinctually. "You're not going to take credit now that it's finished?"

"You're right. _I'm_ done, and you're done backseat driving." He pauses. "How do you say _backseat driving_ in French?"

"I don't know," she says, unfolding the ridiculously complicated set of multi-lingual instructions again. "How about Portuguese? Russian?"

"Did you ever find the English set?"

"No," she admits. "But I think this one might be Ancient Greek."

"How many Ancient Greeks build toy car garages for their kids?"

"Only the really dedicated ones." She sets down the instructions. "Nicky's going to love it," she says softly.

"You think?"

"Yeah." Impulsively, she leans over the papers and clear plastic wrappers and discarded bits of construction and kisses him.

"What was that for?"

"Oh, you know. I can't resist a man who can build a garage." She starts to pull back and he kisses her this time, one hand threading into her hair. She responds with interest, forgetting for a moment her seemingly insolvable dilemma, until –

"Ow!"

He releases her instantly. "What's wrong?"

Sitting back a little, she pulls a plastic screw out from under one thigh. She holds the culprit out, smiling ruefully. "I think it's a sign that we're too old for this."

"We're not too old for this," he says quickly. "Remember when –"

He stops, maybe wondering if _remember_ is a dirty word now.

It's not, but it's a reminder, for lack of a better term.

It's a splash of cold water as she forces herself to focus, to recall that she's here for a reason. And the reason isn't to flirt with the man who used to be her husband over toy garage instructions, to wrap Christmas presents for sweet children who aren't hers, or to reminisce over some of the more interesting places they've consummated their marriage.

She has a job.

And her job is to remember.

 _Let me help you, Addie. Let me help you remember._

"Derek…"

"Addie."

He's looking at her, all his focus on her, his blue eyes soft.

She takes a deep breath, not wanting to lose the moment.

 _But the moment isn't real._

Except it feels real.

It feels so real.

"Derek," she says again, drawing a deep breath. "I need to talk to you."

But then the words die in her throat and she feels tears springing to her eyes.

"Are you okay?" He looks concerned.

When he reaches out to touch her face she grasps his hand, keeping it against her cheek. "Listen, Derek, I know you think I'm crazy – "

"I don't think you're crazy," he says quickly.

"Okay. Well. It would be _reasonable_ to think I'm crazy," she amends, not wanting to argue the point. "The thing is, I, uh, I do need to talk to you. And I need you to kind of … suspend disbelief when I do. Because I think we need to do this together."

"Do what together?" he asks.

 _Figure out what happened to make our marriage veer off track. Figure out where I zigged and the other Addison zagged. Help me remember._

"It's going to sound crazy," she warns him.

 _But I need you. I need you to help me figure out when we stopped needing each other. I think we need to do it together._

"And I know you, Derek – I know it's hard to believe, but I just need you to – or at least to try, because I just – " she feels herself choking up.

"Addie, it's okay."

He moves his thumb against her cheek reassuringly. When she looks at him, she sees her own reflection in his familiar irises.

"I trust you," he tells her quietly.

Those three simple words bring tears to her eyes.

He kisses her gently – comforting this time rather than sensual. "Tell me," he says.

"Derek," she says carefully. "Something happened. Something went wrong … with us."

"Something's wrong with us?"

"Not here," she says quickly. "Not with you and … but that's the thing. Things went _right_ here, and I need to figure out why. I haven't been able to figure it out on my own and I think maybe I need your help."

He's silent.

"Derek…"

"I'm listening, Addie."

"But now you think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy." He shakes his head. "I want to help."

"You do?"

"I really do."

He's looking at her now, his eyes trusting, and she takes just a moment to apologize to him _I took that look off his face, in our universe, that was me,_ _he was an optimist before, he believed_.

He believed in her.

And here, in this universe, he still does.

Now she gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Okay, then." She takes a deep breath, tucking her hair behind her ears.

… and has no idea what to say next.

Bizzy may be gone, and maybe she's never coming back, but she could still send a sign, right?

She doesn't.

Addison sighs, glancing around the room as if it holds answers. Her gaze falls on a framed photograph on the wall. It's a beach shot of the four of them, candid – delightfully candid, the children dusted in sand like little sugared doughnuts, Addison's sunglasses slipping down, and Derek laughing at something she said.

They look so real. Like the photographs in the dining room.

Pictures.

 _Pictures._

..

"I have to admit," he confesses, "I thought you were going to ask for something weirder than looking at photo albums."

She shrugs.

"I'm always happy to look at these," he assures her, standing at the bookshelves in front of the row of neatly labeled fabric-wrapped albums. He glances over his shoulder. "Any particular one you want to see?"

A moment of intense longing hits her. _I want to see them all. I want them to be real._

Her lips part to answer him before she knows what she's going to say, but when she says it, it feels right. "Christmas," she tells him. "I want to see Christmas."

"Why am I not surprised?" He smiles at her and pulls a red album from the shelf, gesturing toward the couch.

She settles in, feeling a little flutter of anticipation as Derek sits down next to her. The album is large enough to share on both their laps.

She runs her hand over the cover – the fabric feels smooth. Inviting. And then, throwing a quick glance Derek's way – he nods encouragingly – she opens the front cover.

And gasps.

"Addie?"

The first page is thick cardstock in the blue of a pale winter sky. Etched on it in thin silver letters are three words:

 _remember the day_

Her heart thumps. "Did you – did you write this?" she asks.

It's silly – it's not his handwriting – but she can't stop tracing the letters with a shaking finger.

"I think it came that way," Derek says hesitantly. "It's the – brand or something, I don't know." He pauses. "Addison, are you sure you want to – "

"I'm sure." She draws a deep breath. It's nothing. She hasn't even looked at a single picture yet.

She turns over the page, and sees the rest of the album's pages look similar – thick cardstock on which photographs have been set using little silver tabs at the corner of each one. It gives the albums a vintage look, like the ones she remembers from decades ago.

And it looks like a lot of work. Did the other Addison make this album? Pore over shots to choose the best one to highlight on each page, fasten it with tiny little triangular holders?

She studies the first photograph. It's Derek, holding a baby and standing on a snow-dusted step by a Christmas wreath. Derek's nose is faintly pink, offset by the large red ribbon on the wreath. The baby is wearing a bright red snowsuit and a soft little brown hat with pink-lined ears in the shape of a bear.

"That's Nicky," she says softly. He must be just over a year old, born the previous autumn. She must have taken the picture herself.

She turns the page and they're indoors now, on a carpet she doesn't recognize in front of a Christmas tree. Addison is sitting cross-legged holding one of Nicky's small hands in hers and gesturing to something on the tree. The baby, in profile, looks like he's laughing. He has wispy dark curls and he's wearing darling little green overalls. Addison is mostly turned away from the camera. She studies the unnerving capture of her face – but not her face. Only about a quarter of it is visible, and her hair is longer, hanging down her back.

 _You're so lucky._ She touches the page next to the photograph. _Do you know how lucky you are?_

The next page is Addison again, holding Nicky on her hip while she stirs something in a red pot on the stove. It's so domestic it takes her breath away.

"What's in the pot?" she asks, before she can stop herself.

"Hot chocolate," Derek says immediately, smiling at her. "You know … it was Christmas."

"Yeah." Addison blinks back tears. She realizes she doesn't recognize the kitchen. "We're not at your mom's," she says, a little confused. "Where are we?"

There's a flash of pain in his eyes when she looks up, and she regrets her hasty question. "Derek…"

"You really don't remember," he says softly.

She covers his hand with hers. "I'm sorry."

His palm turns over and he squeezes her hand. "It's okay." He draws a deep breath. "We didn't go to my mom's that year. Three of Nancy's kids had the flu and then her husband came down with it, and Kath's kids had been over playing with them the day before. It happened so fast – a Shepherd plague. My mom insisted on helping them out – you know she thinks she's immune to everything – and they understood we didn't want to expose Nicky."

Addison nods. It makes sense. "But we didn't stay home," she prompts.

"No. It was Christmas," Derek says, smiling softly at the memory, "and it was the first where Nicky was really _Nicky_ , not just a little tiny thing who slept through the holiday. We wanted it to be special. You suggested that we go –"

"To the beach," she says.

"You remember?"

"I … I don't know." Something is ringing a bell. A faint, tinkling bell. She fingers the album page. "We went to the beach house? But that's not our kitchen …"

"The house in Southampton wasn't winterized," Derek reminds her. "We had so little time to plan but a guy in cardio knew a guy and we ended up in Montauk."

Addison blinks, turning the page. They're outside again, building a snowman, pink-cheeked and laughing. The next photograph has all three of them crowding into the frame; she can tell Derek must have held the camera out to capture all their faces. The baby version of Nicky is laughing with delight, rosy under his soft knitted bear hat. Her heart clenches.

They look so happy.

All of them.

She can see some of the house in the next frame, an unfamiliar shingled structure with blue shutters and a dusting of powder that makes it look magically Christmassy.

"It's nice," she says quietly, turning the page again, and again, walking through Christmas Eve and then day, Nicky in green-plaid Christmas pajamas with a snowman on the front, crumpling wrapping paper in lieu of his presents, gripping a yellow sippy cup with the letter _N_ on it in script. And then she turns the page and baby Nicky is gone, replaced by a toddler with a head of riotous dark curls, laughing blue eyes, sturdy little legs.

But the house is the same.

Snow-dusted shingles.

Blue shutters.

Green wreath on the front door with a big red ribbon.

Addison is crouching on what looks like a veranda, the snowy wrought-iron furniture looking like a fairyland, and Nicky is beaming next to her, but she's holding something in her arms wrapped in red bunting…

"Ellie," she says. She's hungry for more, and in the next page it's Derek cradling his infant daughter while Nicky runs a little red truck over his father's denim-clad leg. Derek is smiling down at his son.

"She was so tiny."

"She really was." Derek is looking tenderly at the photograph. "I was worried it would be too cold for her, but you said –"

"-that babies are more resilient than we give them credit for."

"Right." Derek nods slowly. "And I reminded you that you weren't nearly so casual with Nicky."

She smiles at the borrowed memory. "You know mothers and first babies."

"I certainly do."

 _Mothers._

She runs a finger along the photograph on the next page, Addison sitting in a glider with a dozing Ellie on her lap, clad in a soft white sleeper with a pink rabbit face on her tiny stomach, and a book in her other hand. Nicky is cuddled on her other side in Christmas pajamas printed with merry-looking gingerbread men. He's beaming up at her and pointing to something in the book she's reading. It has a shiny, red and green cover.

" _Bear Gets Home for Christmas_ ," she says, pointing.

"Nicky's favorite." Derek smiles at her. "You remember."

He looks so hopeful that she can't disappoint him. "We went back," she says tentatively, gesturing at the second year of photographs at the house in Montauk she's never seen.

"We went back."

They must have liked it. She looks at Ellie's tiny rosebud mouth, pursed in sleep.

 _Two Christmas babies._

Ellie was conceived in that house the previous Christmas.

It occurs to her in a fleeting moment but she's certain of it, and when she glances at Derek and sees the smile playing on his lips she knows she's right.

"That's why we went back," she proposes.

He smiles. "That was a pretty special Christmas."

"But Nancy's kids weren't sick again …"

"No," Derek admits. "But Ellie hadn't had her shots yet, and there was so much going around."

So they spent another Christmas in Montauk.

"We rented the same house?"

Derek nods.

She smiles, imagining it. And then pauses, recalling a conversation with Derek a few nights earlier, when she saw a photograph from last Christmas of the children building a snowman.

 _We were out east last Christmas_ , she said then, and Derek confirmed it.

 _You and your wintry beaches_ , he said, but when she asked to see more pictures from that Christmas …

But they didn't look at them.

Something interrupted.

What was it?

She tries to recall, but can't. Assuming she's overtaxing what passes for her memory in this universe, she just gives Derek the most reassuring smile she can. "What about the next Christmas? Were we back in –"

She turns the page.

They were back.

"What about your mother?" she asks bluntly.

"Ah, good question." He turns the page himself this time, looking fondly at a picture of a toddling Ellie reaching up for her older brother. "We still saw her. We went to my mom's house for Christmas Day that year, and the next one."

"But what about –"

"We went to Montauk first," he says, "and spent the week before Christmas there."

 _We haven't worked the week before Christmas in years._

"Do we rent the same house every year?"

Derek shakes his head.

"Oh."

"After the second year – we bought it."

Her eyes widen. "We did?"

Derek nods. "We sold the place in Southampton. You thought Montauk was more relaxed, better for the kids, and – that a fishing village was the right place for me." He says it almost shyly, and she finds herself blushing.

A week in wintry Montauk with her family every Christmas, just the four of them, before they rejoin the larger Shepherd family in Connecticut.

It's such a lovely, snowy thought that tears prickle her eyes.

But wait.

Why are they still in Manhattan now? It's only two days to Christmas Eve –

The thought fills her with prickling dread, but she pushes it down. _Not much time until Christmas,_ indeed.

She's trying to get her mind wrapped around their traditions.

"We're going to Montauk again this year …?" she prompts hesitantly.

Derek nods. "A little later than we would, but … "

His voice trails off.

 _But what?_

She doesn't ask, though, because she's suddenly realizing what this means. "Derek – when are we going to Montauk?"

"Tomorrow," he says.

Her heart thuds. She suddenly realizes that they don't have _not much time_ anymore.

She has almost no time left.

With shaking hands, she closes the album.

"Don't you want to look at pictures anymore?" Derek asks.

"You have no idea how much I do." She looks up at him sadly. "I could look at these pictures forever, Derek, but if we're leaving tomorrow then I…"

She stops talking. He's been so helpful, so generous and trusting since she asked for his help, but there must be a limit.

How can she tell him that if they're leaving for Montauk tomorrow, she needs to make sure she learns everything she can from _this_ house first?

"Addie?"

Derek is looking at her with concern. "Tell me how I can help."

"You're already helping." She's touched by his expression. "Even though I know this must seem … it must seem …"

Her voice trails off.

"You had an MRI for me," Derek says quietly. "You saw the counselor for me. Let me do this for you."

She raises her eyes to meet his. "Really?"

"Really."

She draws a deep, shaking breath. "I need to remember my life. I need you to help me remember, and – the pictures helped, they did, but I need to know more."

 _How did we get the beautiful life in those pictures?_

"Maybe you can tell me about – about what it was like before Nicky was born."

"Okay," he says. "What do you want to know?"

"I'm not sure," she confesses. She stands to stretch her legs, feeling nervous energy, and finds herself walking toward the bookshelves again.

And then suddenly it's filling her head again like skywriting, white script on a blue winter sky, the words that have been haunting her since her arrival here:

 _You still take my breath away._

It's so clear she glances at Derek to see if he heard anything, but he just smiles neutrally back at her.

 _You still take my breath away._

The words fill her, chase her, as she walks toward the bookshelf. The closer she gets, the louder it feels – almost like a game of hot and cold she might play with the children. Derek is watching her warily, but she doesn't stop.

She can't stop.

She knows she's running out of time.

Taking the final steps toward the bookshelves, she reaches out with blind trust and closes her hand around … a picture frame.

It's one she recognizes. She noticed it one of her first nights in this universe, when they were decorating the tree. There's a younger version of herself in that picture, with messy hair and salmon-pink scrubs, and she's beaming, cradling a newborn. The photograph is mostly of her and the swaddled infant, with only the barest glimpse of another person at the edge of the frame.

Slowly, she turns around to show it to her husband.

"Derek," she whispers, holding out the frame. "Who's in this picture? Who's that baby?"

He crosses the room to stand next to her, glancing at the photograph.

"It's Ruby," he says. "Nancy's daughter, Ruby."

She blinks.

The memory feels so close – she can almost touch it – but it's hovering above the rest of it all, not fitting into the puzzle.

It's Ruby.

Nancy's youngest, the sweet little girl who played with Addison's children at the indoor playground. But they have a lot of nieces. She delivered several of them. Why is this picture here, Addison and Ruby, in this place of – is it honor? Memory? She saw Ruby already, so that solves any fears something might have happened to the little girl in this universe.

So why is she here? Why is her birth prominently displayed in their family room?

She knows the answer, even if she doesn't _know._

Because the moment was special.

Because the moment mattered.

What she doesn't know, what she can't quite grasp, is why.

"Derek … tell me more about the picture," she pleads.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she admits. "Tell me everything."

* * *

 _To be continued. Merry Christmas in February - in Addekland, the holiday season is year round! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you will review and let me know what you think. I love reading your thoughts and they encourage me to keep going! :)_


	16. I Just Want to Keep This Dream in Me

_A/N: Happy Saturday, everyone! Thank you so much for all your encouragement and feedback on this story. I am so happy you've enjoyed this journey so far. We're getting to its close. There are probably two chapters left after this one, so hang on tight because they'll be a ride. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!_

* * *

 ** _I Just Want to Keep This Dream in Me_**

* * *

 _"Everything," she admits. "Tell me everything."_

"Everything about the picture," Derek says. His voice is soft with reminiscence. "Okay. Well, you know it's Ruby." He speaks her name fondly. "Right after she was born. So I guess I should start with her birth."

Addison nods encouragingly.

"It was just after Thanksgiving, and Nancy wasn't due until a few days before Christmas, but she went into early labor – "

" – in the delivery room," Addison finishes, remembering. "She was working."

"Right."

"She had to be sectioned with Gabe," Addison recalls. This is fuzzy, but it's memory – it's real, it's _hers_ , she was there for it. "And she was desperate for a VBAC. We worked together on it. She was seeing her partner in the practice, but she wouldn't agree to it."

Derek nods. "Her husband wasn't thrilled either."

"I remember." The flush of guilt flickers at her jawline. Nancy's husband, Will, was calm and steady, a good contrast for her passionate and headstrong sister-in-law. They clashed over Nancy's birthing plans, though, Will seeing it as unnecessary risk and Nancy seeing his doubt as mistrust of her medical and maternal judgment.

"How much do you remember?"

"I remember getting paged," Addison says. "I elbowed someone to get their taxi," and she smiles a little bit at the memory, "and I was on the phone with Nancy all twenty blocks."

Derek nods. "Her favorite nurse was holding the phone."

"And then …"

"And then you got there," Derek says, "before I did, but I remember her partner telling me you came in like whirlwind and just took over. She watched Nancy's BP start settle the minute you arrived."

"You came too," Addison says slowly.

Derek nods. "As soon as I could. Will was trying to figure out what to do with the older kids and I picked up Gabe and then we all came to the hospital."

"And then what?"

"And then we waited," Derek says. "While you saved the day."

She closes her eyes for a moment, and she's at Stuyvesant Women's again, smelling antiseptic and fear. And the odors attending to labor that feel neutral after you've delivered as many babies as she has.

Nancy is sitting up, monitors strapped to her, her eyes dark and wild. Begging her to help.

* * *

..

* * *

" _Addie, you have to help me, Sharon said she couldn't deliver vaginally, but I don't want –"_

" _Nancy, listen to me," Addison interrupts, keeping her voice gentle but firm enough to calm her sister-in-law down. "Focus on me."_

" _Okay. Okay." Nancy is visibly trying to calm herself._

" _Everything is going to be okay. I'm right here with you and I'm not leaving until you're holding your daughter."_

 _Nancy draws sharp breath, gives a jerky little nod. "But you won't section me, Addie. You promised."_

" _I will do absolutely everything I can, Nancy, but I need you to breathe. Slow breaths. You're breathing for the baby too."_

" _Okay," Nancy draws a steady breath with some effort. "Addie, you can do this. You can do this for me. You're the best."_

" _Better than you?" Addison teases, keeping her tone light despite her pounding heart. Her fingers are clenched in her sister-in-law's sweaty ones._

" _Better than me." Nancy grips her hand even tighter, if possible. "But don't let anything happen to her, Addie."_

" _I won't, Nancy. I promise I won't."_

" _But – but – "_

" _It's your plan, Nance. Right up until I can't do it, I'm going to do what you want."_

* * *

..

* * *

"And you did it," Derek says.

"And I did it." Addison tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She's recalling the hours of labor, the precise fetal monitoring, the arguments she had with Nancy's partner and the head of OB.

"No one else would do it," Derek reminds her.

"I don't know if anyone else could have," Addison says, then pauses. "That sounds … arrogant."

They exchange a smile that says, _sometimes it's okay._

"But it's true," Derek says. "Nancy thought it was true." He pauses. "Would you have sectioned her?"

"If it came to that? Of course." Addison glances at him. "But the best surgeons make sure it doesn't _come to that._ "

He finishes the last few words with her. "Chief Marshall used to say that."

"I remember." Addison reaches out to take the hand that could have been her husband's – not the husband of another Addison – and holds on for a moment. Chief Marshall – their residency – it feels so long ago. So far away, even now that she's back in the city where it took place.

Those are her memories.

That was her husband.

Well – boyfriend at the time, then fiancé, then husband. But he was hers. And she was his.

As if they've planned it, they both move away from the bookshelves, toward the couch, and sink down into its softness. Thoughts are flooding her mind, and there's not enough time to sort them. She has the sense of insight, of _something_ , but she can't help but feel there's more.

"Derek …"

"Is that it?" he asks. "Is that what you wanted to know, about Ruby?"

"I guess so." But she's not sure. It feels like something's lacking. "Is there more? What about your memories – when I wasn't there, I mean?"

"You were incredible," he says. "You delivered a healthy baby and satisfied Nancy, the hardest to please person I know."

She smiles a little at this.

"I sat in a waiting room, waiting. That's all."

"With Will?"

"With Will and Gabriel and … the others came in and out. Will went to meet Sam at one point and I stayed with Gabe."

"You did?" Addison's not sure she ever knew that part of the story.

"I did." Derek's eyes look soft. "He was … three, I think? And tired, and confused, and stuck in a bright hospital waiting room where everyone was nervous."

Poor Gabe. "You watched him," Addison prompts.

"He fell asleep on me," Derek recalls. He smiles. "He was exhausted, and he wanted his mom, but he finally settled for the nearest Shepherd. I was so glad he fell asleep that I didn't move for probably two hours, even after Will was back and Kathleen offered to take him too."

"That's so sweet." Addison says it without thinking – because it's true. "I'm not sure I ever knew that part of the story," she admits.

Something flickers in Derek's eyes. "Well, you were pretty busy saving two lives," he points out.

"Right." Addison looks at the frame that started the conversation. "So you took that picture."

Derek nods. "You can see Nancy just – there," and he points to the bit of dark hair in the side of the shot.

"You cut her out," Addison teases.

"Well, all she did was have a baby." Derek's tone is light too. "You were the real hero that night."

Her face is warm with a bit of embarrassment, a bit of pride. For herself … and from him. Derek was proud of her. She tries to remember that night, her own experience. Did her Derek take that picture, a tired Addison after delivery holding a swaddled Ruby?

If he did, it's been lost over the years. The picture and its significance, too.

Ruby's birth means something more here, she decides.

It's the only explanation.

"Derek," she says, doing the math in her head, "Ruby was born in – so that means she was a few weeks old at Christmas."

Derek nods. "Nancy refused to take her anywhere until Christmas because she was so worried about her, even though we all kept pointing out how many other children were in the house. She was protective."

"I remember," Addison says slowly, "but that Christmas, Ruby's first one …"

Derek nods.

"That's when Nicky was …" Her voice trails off. For some reason she can't say _conceived._

It's not prudishness, or modesty, but something else. Maybe using such a clinical term for what seems, when she thinks of the sweet dark-haired boy asleep upstairs, pure miracle.

A smile spreads across Derek's face. "That was the Nicky Christmas," he confirms.

Now she's definitely blushing, based on the look in his eye. He's playful, this Derek – there's a lightness to him, a teasing, a sweetness too – that she can admit now she's missed terribly. He was like this before. It was like this, between them, before.

Years ago.

When things were good.

So why didn't they _stay_ good?

Why did the other Addison conceive a child, and cultivate a happy marriage, while she couldn't do the same?

Tears fill her eyes.

"Addie … maybe we shouldn't be talking about this," Derek says uncertainly. She feels his warm hands on her face, brushing away the dampness.

"No, it's okay. I'm glad we're talking about this. Really."

She tries to smile. He's very close to her, his blue eyes – _blue_ is too ordinary a word for them, but it will have to do – are soft. Concerned.

He doesn't believe that she's _not_ his wife. That she's a different Addison. But he's still willing to entertain her questions, confirm her memories, and share his own recollection. He trusts her.

She's never broken that trust.

With a pang she thinks about this Derek learning what she did. What she did to him, to herself, and to Mark. How she destroyed their marriage. Would be believe her then – believe that she shouldn't be trusted? Believe that she was someone else.

One more look at his eyes, and his open and honest face, and she can't do it.

"Thank you," she says softly, "for telling me these things, even though – even though it's strange."

"It's strange," he agrees. He turns her hand over in his. "And Addison, you're not saying you're done trying to – understand what's going on with your memories. Right?"

"Right," she says uncertainly.

 _It's almost Christmas. After Christmas, one way or another, I won't be here … right? It will be a non-issue._

"Good." He sounds deeply relieved. "So that means – "

"After Christmas," she confirms quickly. "Right?"

"After Christmas," he agrees.

"So until then … if you can help me remember …?" Her voice cracks a little.

"Of course," he says.

Impulsively, she leans forward to kiss him. He waits only a moment before responding and his warm lips feel familiar and good – soft, then not so soft.

He pulls back first. "I hate to say this … but we have presents to wrap."

"We do have presents to wrap." She's thinking about the gifts. About the wrapping, the tree, and the children waiting for them. "Derek?"

"Hm?"

"We're going to Montauk tomorrow, you said … right?"

"Right." He pauses. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

Actually, she's feeling more and more convinced that whatever she needs to find out has to be done here. This is where she walked in, that night that changed her life. This is where she first saw Bizzy, her sometime-spirit guide. This is the Other Addison's home.

The answers are here.

She's sure of it.

… which is all well and good but, as Derek passes her colorful paper and tape and they jostle each other in a friendly manner while they wrap and beribbon the boxes, she realizes the key problem remains: she still doesn't know how to find those answers.

..

She's starting to fall asleep over a magnetic playset – _perfect for the car,_ that's what Derek says – when he rouses her gently and insists they go upstairs to bed. She can't argue. She's used to middle of the night call and deliveries at all hours, but it's her first Christmas as a mother, up in the middle of the night wrapping gifts.

Well. Not a mother – how she wishes she _could_ be the mother of the two sleeping children.

But they have a mother.

And Addison … well, Addison has a cat.

A very nice cat, in fairness, one she hopes the Other Addison is feeding and petting.

And a beach house.

A sunny, and beautiful, and _beachy_ beach house.

She has a new life, a different life. A California life.

And this Addison – the one who lives here, in the brownstone they both decorated – she has the life Addison missed.

The one she didn't know was an option.

The one she found out too late was what she always wanted.

 _Where did I go wrong?_

But the damage is done. Whatever she could have done differently, whatever choice could have helped her, between Ruby's birth and Nicky's conception … is long gone. More than half a decade gone.

She doesn't belong here.

She doesn't deserve to be here.

She owes it to the Other Addison to make it right. To give back the life she could have had, but failed to choose.

If only you could _know_ when a choice was important. If only you could have a blazing spotlight on it, alarm bells, something to let you know to pay attention.

She wishes for that.

Oh, how she wishes she could have had that six years ago.

 _If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride._

She hears the old aphorism in Bizzy's cool, familiar voice.

 _Bizzy_.

Living a new life here too, living with a woman she loves. But assuring Addison that her own choices – Thea, her choice to live openly – aren't the mystery Addison needs to solve.

It's something else.

It's something about herself.

It's something that happened between Ruby's birth – which she remembers – and Nicky's conception. She's sure of it, as sure as if she'd lived it.

But _what is it?_

She prepares for bed mechanically in the room that has gone from familiar to unfamiliar and right back to familiar, down to the blue glazed children's handprints hanging on the wall. She slides between the sheets in silk pajamas, possibilities racing through her tired mind.

She can't sleep.

She'll let Derek sleep, and she'll stay up to think. It's late, but she can't let that stop her. She doesn't have much time left.

"Addie – Addison, what's wrong?"

She's sitting up straight in bed, eyes wide. But she forces herself to be calm. "Nothing. It's fine," she says hastily.

It's not fine.

She's just realized she may not even have tonight.

What if she closes her eyes and wakes up in California again, having failed to find the information she needed? Having failed to locate the choices Bizzy kept referring to – back when Bizzy was actually trying to help?

"Are you sure?"

She meets Derek's concerned eyes. He's sitting up too now, one warm hand resting on her arm. "Addie, talk to me," he says.

"I'm okay. Really. I just – I thought I heard Nicky," she lies.

Derek frowns. "I didn't hear anything. But I'll go check."

Before she can stop him he's off down the hall. But he's quick, and when he returns she hears him say, "He was fast asleep, with _Bear Gets Home for Christmas_ opened on top of him, actually."

Addison smiles at this. "Did you take it off?"

"I didn't. Not because it was cute – although it was cute – but he was holding onto it like it was a stuffed animal or a blanket and I didn't have the heart to move it."

She can picture it so easily.

The sweet sleeping boy, clutching his favorite book.

She captures the image in her mind, frames it in memory. This is all she can do: hope that when she is vaulted from the warm security of this world she can take with her some of its memories.

As she falls asleep, despite her best efforts to stay awake, she's mildly soothed by that thought.

Maybe the beach house won't feel so cold if she can remember this one.

..

She's warm when she wakes.

Warm and cozy, the weightless duvet heating the bed and a small, warm something next to her body.

"Mommy?"

She smiles at the little girl curled up in the big bed, cuddled into her side.

"Hey there." Addison brushes reddish-brown hair away from her small face. Ellie nuzzles her hand in response, snuggling into her touch, in a way that breaks her heart.

 _You deserve a mother who deserves you._

But she's the one who's here, now, so she draws the little girl into her side for sleepy morning cuddles that she never knew could be quite this sweet.

It's just the two of them in the big bed – Nicky and Derek are nowhere to be seen – but she can smell coffee wafting up from downstairs so she has a pretty good idea where they are.

She's not in a hurry, though.

Not when she knows she doesn't have much time left with this child, this lovely and loving little girl who could have been hers.

Ellie seems fine with her decision, still sleepy, cuddling into her body for long, slow moments that bring her energy along with reflective sadness.

"Mommy," Ellie says again after a while, sounding much more awake now. She puts one small hand on either side of Addison's face and her touch melts away the sadness.

"I'm right here," Addison assures her.

"Yeah." Ellie sounds happy about it, and Addison can't help pulling her down for another hug. Ellie is receptive to the additional affection.

"Hey, something downstairs smells good," Addison says as Ellie starts to seem far more awake, going from sleepy cuddles to bouncing on the bed.

Ellie nods enthusiastically, dropping to all fours. "Breakfast!"

"What do you think, should we go see what the boys are making?"

Ellie doesn't need to be asked twice. She climbs into Addison's arms, sliding a bit on her slippery silk pajamas, and hangs on with strong little monkey legs as they make their way out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

"Cinnamon toast!" That's Nicky's joyful greeting when they enter the warm, fragrant kitchen.

Ellie claps her hands at the thought.

Derek leans in to kiss both of them. "How did you sleep? El, did you let Mommy get some rest or just kick her?"

"She let me rest." Addison rests her cheek against the little girl's silky hair, smiling at Derek.

"You hungry?" He looks from one of them to the other. Addison feels Ellie nodding, and she nods too.

"Good. Cinnamon toast, coming right up."

But when Derek reaches for a pan, Ellie protests, wriggling in Addison's arms.

"No, Mommy!" she cries.

Addison is confused.

" _Mommy_ makes the toast," she says, tugging at the collar of Addison's pajama top.

Derek pretends to be offended, but he's smiling too.

"Daddy's cinnamon toast is good too," Nicky says loyally. "Just Mommy's is the best one."

"You heard him," Derek says lightly, passing Addison the bread board. He pauses to ruffle Nicky's hair. "I'm on break, I see."

Nicky beams, seeming to like his father's wording. "Me too, on break," he says happily, lolling around his father's chair.

Oh.

It's too cute for her to protest, but she was kind of counting on Nicky as sous-chef since she has no idea what she's doing.

Carefully, she sets Ellie down. "Do you want to – "

But before she can ask the little girl to help, Ellie has padded across the kitchen and climbed into her father's lap, apparently sleepy again, or at least ready for more cuddles.

So she's on her own.

"Cinnamon toast. Coming right up," she says, as brightly as she can.

 _Bizzy, I get that we're not exactly on speaking terms right now, but if you could just program the recipe for Cinnamon Toast into my mainframe I'd really appreciate it._

She doesn't.

Buying time, Addison bustles around – thankfully, Derek has already taken down some ingredients.

Egg. Is there egg? Or is that French toast?

She reaches for the blue china egg holder and out of the corner of her eye she could swear she sees Nicky shake his head. Swiftly, she pushes them back.

"Butter," she says.

A little dark head nods.

"And cinnamon and sugar."

That's it! Three ingredients. With toast. She can do that.

But is she forgetting something?

"A pinch of salt…" She remembers as she says it. "In the cinnamon sugar." A glance at Derek confirms it.

"That's the way your cook used to make it," Derek reminds her. "You told me that once, a long time ago."

" _Yes._ " A memory slides into her mind, but it's not from Bizzy or this version of Addison. It's her own. She's about Nicky's age, sitting on the big marble counter with her legs swinging, _don't let your mother see you up here,_ and then one of the other staff said, _as if she'd come in here,_ and they both laughed. Cook had a ruddy face and thick knuckles – _it's the arthritis,_ she told Addison, _don't worry, love, it's not catching. Old age gets all of us –_ and she made the best cinnamon toast with puddles of melting butter and the most delicious spicy crunch. _Pinch of salt, that'll do it – mind you use just a pinch, Addie, there's a good girl._ Her parents kept the cook busy but Addison still got cinnamon toast whenever she wandered into the kitchens looking for attention with a perfect spelling paper or a skinned knee.

Blinking back to the present – or this version of it, at least – she sees Nicky watching her. His head is slightly tilted, making him look even more like his father. He's so small and sweet still, even if he towers over Ellie. At his age, no one other than paid employees were brushing Addison's hair or reminding her to wash her hands before supper, listening to her read or tossing a ball with her.

And yet the Addison in this world – whose formative years, it seems, were the same, at least up until the age of eleven – seemed to jump right into mothering.

 _You had something I didn't. And now you have two – no, three – somethings I don't. Three somethings I want more than anything and I didn't even realize it until I got here._

This Addison, the Other Addison – they started out the same way, and yet this Addison is a mother.

Not just a mother … a good mother.

As the children eat and exclaim over the cinnamon toast, she watches, a prickle in her throat. Derek seems to notice, because he gets up to join her at the island, wrapping an arm around her.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks gently.

Oh, how she misses the days he would ask her that. When he would actually want to know.

"I was thinking that the kids are great," she says honestly, "and that you're a great father."

Derek pulls her closer and kisses the top of her head. "What about their mother?"

"She's … good," Addison says hesitantly. "She's a good mother." She glances at Derek. "Right?"

"Wrong." He shakes his head. "You're not a good mother." His hand feels warm folding into hers. "You're a _great_ mother."

She leans into him for a longer hug, absorbing the words, then pulls back. The reel of her lonely, neglectful childhood starts spinning again.

"Derek?"

He nods against her hair.

"Did you ever worry about me? That I wouldn't know how to be a mother, you know, because of my family and … everything?"

Gently, he moves her back so that he can see her face. Resting both hands on her shoulders, he gazes at her so intensely it's almost frightening.

"I never doubted you for a second," he says. "Not a second."

She has to blink back tears.

..

The children are chatty and cheerful as they finish their breakfast; Addison takes long pauses to drink in their laughter and surprisingly thoughtful comments.

 _I'm going to miss you._

If it's possible to memorize two children … well, she's going to try.

And if it's not …

But she doesn't want to think about that. She doesn't want to think about leaving without any memories of Nicky or Ellie.

So she lingers over coffee and crumbs, tries to hold on to what could be her last breakfast in this little family. The children finally climb down from their chairs to play, helping to bring their plates to the sink first.

A warm hand brushes her back as she starts to clear away the rest of the dishes. She makes herself smile at Derek, as reassuringly as she can.

 _At least I'll remember you._

Even if this alternate universe disappears from her memories – if it slips away like a dream and she wakes up in her old life in California – she'll remember Derek. Because this Derek isn't a phantom inhabitant of a parallel world. In so many ways, he's the Derek she remembers from when their marriage was strong, just … older.

The children play while they clean up the kitchen, and Addison takes mental pictures of these moments too. Washing dishes with the man who could have still been her husband. Smiling as they comment on the children's sweet but clumsy attempts to help. Bumping each other's hips lightly to make room at the sink.

She dawdles over the cleanup, for some reason not wanting to finish. Maybe it's Derek's focused attention – she has had so much more of it in this world than she has for years, and she's still drinking it in – or the peaceful warmth of the kitchen.

Then Derek hangs up a damp dishtowel and turns to her. "Ready to pack?" he asks.

…or maybe it's because they're leaving.

"We need to pack … to go to Montauk," she confirms, her voice shaking a little.

"Right." He turns to her with concern, brushing some stray hair away from her face. "Addie … what is it?"

"I'm just thinking," she tells him. "Trying to remember."

He gives her a sad smile. "Remember what? Maybe I can help."

 _Everything. I'm trying to remember everything. I'm trying to put together a puzzle and I'm running out of time._

As in medicine, she tries to start with what she knows. _Ruby._ Ruby, whose birth was captured and framed in this Addison's home. A few months later, the Other Addison was pregnant. So having Ruby made her want children? It seems to – make sense. Except for the other children she delivered. Nancy's delivery was stressful, but Kathleen's twins were complicated as well. And she delivered Ruby too, while Derek waited with Will and the children. She remembers this. So it can't just be the delivery. It has to be something else.

Something that came later.

"I was thinking about Ruby," she tells Derek slowly. "I'm trying to figure out …" Her voice trails off as she tries to put together her question. It's not a question, not really – it's pieces of a puzzle like the one she watched Derek and Nicky put together in Bizzy's surprise farmhouse what feels like a lifetime ago. She's trying to make the pieces fit. "Ruby," she repeats. "So I delivered her, and it was … good."

"It was incredible," he corrects her. "You were incredible."

"Okay, it was incredible. And then a few weeks after she's born, it's Christmas, and you and I … well, you know."

"I do know." He leans in for a kiss. "That part I remember very well. I wish you did," he adds, and he looks troubled.

"And then we had Nicky. And I _almost_ understand," she says, hesitant to share her whole thought process with Derek, afraid she'll sound crazy enough that he'll stop helping … or worse. "Or I partly understand. But it feels like I'm missing something."

She draws a deep, steadying breath.

She smells pine.

Spicy mulled wine and crisp snow.

She feels something soft against her cheek. She feels weightless, contained in warm arms. And then she hears laughter, muffled laughter, and feels a spark so strong it's almost electric.

"Christmas," she says immediately, her voice soft with wonder. "It's Christmas, I know it. Derek, it was something that Christmas." Her voice speeds up as she starts to feel more sure. "That's what I need to understand."

Derek, though, doesn't look sure. He looks uncertain.

"I feel certain." The words are spilling out. "It's the Nicky Christmas, Derek, I'm sure of it. Something happened that Christmas that – was different, or made me different or – something …."

Her voice trails off.

 _Something that has to do with why this beautiful world exists but I'm not part of it._

"Addison?"

She glances up at the man who could still be her husband. His eyes still look soft – but they're darkened with guilt.

Something's wrong.

"I … might know what it is," he says quietly, and a pop of excitement goes off behind her eyes.

"You might – what do you mean?" Her heart races.

"You were talking about Ruby, last night, and about Christmas but when you didn't bring it up I thought you didn't remember."

"Didn't remember what?" She touches his arm, needing to feel some sense of reality in this world that's starting to spin. "Derek?"

"I didn't want to upset you. Last time, it upset you," he says finally. He's looking down at his hands. "Addie, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to lie to you. It's just you're already upset now, and with your memory issues, and …"

"It's okay," she says quickly, "I don't mind, Derek, I just need to know. What is it that you didn't tell me?"

He looks pained. She tries to help.

"You said it upset me," she prompts. "What was it that upset me?"

"The card. When you found the card, it upset you."

She's trying to piece together what happened. "When I found the – "

And then, abruptly, she stops talking.

She hears his words from their first conversation about her memory loss: _is that why you reacted the way you did when you found the card?_

"Derek. When did that happen? When did I find … ?"

She stops talking. Because she realizes that it wasn't her.

She didn't find the card. It was the Other Addison, before she got here.

The Other Addison found a card that upset her.

Before they crossed into each other's world.

But what does that mean?

Frustrated, she waits for revelation. Alone, _card_ doesn't signify anything – what card, it could be anything: a business card? A greeting card? An advertisement on cardstock?

But then for some reason she finds herself with the sensation of rough-smooth paper, like you'd find on an envelope. Thick. She smells pine and something thick like mulled wine. And she hears … something.

It's muted, like it's underwater.

Christmas bells chime in the corners of her mind.

She feels the strain of trying to connect the puzzle pieces, but she also feels the re-igniting of hope that involving her husband was the right call.

And more than that, the distinct feeling that the card – whatever it is – could be the key.

"I'm sorry," he says, sounding so sad she can't bear it. It's Christmas. He deserves to be happy. She won't let him feel the sadness she brought from the other universe.

"Don't be," she assures him, taking his hand in hers. "It's okay, really, Derek. There are no rules for this. It's – too strange. You don't have to be sorry."

He smiles a little at this, ruefully, and squeezes her hand.

"Derek?"

He nods.

"Do you think you could … I mean, can you tell me about the card?"

And then she freezes.

Because somehow, when she says the word _card_ , it triggers something.

Something delicate and silver like Christmas bells, something sticky like pine, something sharp and cold like the wind that follows a slammed door in winter. A whisper in her ear: _you still take my breath away._

She has no idea what it is.

She has no idea, nor has she since she first opened the door to this new world, _how_ any of this came to be.

But somehow, as surely as she knows she's running out of time, she realizes that she might finally know why she's here.

Because with sudden sharp clarity … she remembers the card.

* * *

 _To be continued. Thank you so much for sticking with this story and for all your encouragement. I'm going to try to get the next chapter up very soon. Reviews keep me on my updating toes - so please review! :)_

 _Title lyric from the titular song. If you haven't listened to "Losing Your Memory" lately, I highly recommend it. I just re-watched Rach's video in preparation for this update and it's so perfect I can't even handle it. xoxo_


	17. The Card

_**A/N: Hi hi HI! I have missed all of you and your wonderful feedback and your guesses on this story and your awesomeness. I'm sorry I've been so absent - a regular Derek-in-New-York-Before-Mark - but between the flu and one nor'easter after another, it's been quite a winter. (Winter? Isn't it spring? You get the idea.) Here I am in March looking out at giant snowflakes, so it's not hard to get in a Christmas mood. Here's a chapter of this story I've been waiting for share with you. And I'm hoping to update at least one other Christmas story, too, while the snow is good. Thank you as always for being the best readers ever. I hope you enjoy this (long, LONG) chapter. You deserve it!**_

* * *

 _ **The Card**_

* * *

 _With sudden sharp clarity ... she remembers the card._

She remembers.

And she can see in his face the moment _he_ sees it, too – because even here, apparently, he can still read her.

 _How can someone I haven't lived with in years know me this well?_

She's dizzy for a moment with confusion, with regret, because in this strange new world holding onto Derek is almost the same as letting go. She holds onto him anyway, the warm pressure of his hand reassuring her.

And she remembers.

She remembers Christmas six years ago. _The Nicky Christmas_. That's what Derek called it. But that's not what it was in her world.

She didn't put the pieces together before – maybe couldn't – but now she does. That Christmas, the one where the other Addison and Derek conceived the sweet little boy whose happy voice is raised in audible play from the family room … that's not _her_ Christmas. She had a Christmas that year.

One that started somewhere very different from the cozy kitchen where she's currently standing.

Somewhere with none of the warmth of this brownstone where once she left her mark and where she never imagined she'd return.

Six years ago. It wasn't the Nicky Christmas, not for her.

It was … _That_ Christmas.

It was her idea, and Derek went along with it. Went along with her.

With a slight, far-off tinkling of bells, she's there again …

..

..

" _Addie, you look like you're about to face the executioner."_

" _Aren't I?" She tries to look like she's joking, but Archie gives her a look that's half-smirk, half-sympathy, and she knows he gets it._

 _She was never going to come back here, but the lure of the brother she hardly gets to see was too much to resist. Plus, she has Derek for support. He's been sticking close to her side but he's given her space to talk to her brother – as much as Derek and Archer might not be best friends, her husband is well aware he doesn't have to worry about Archer._

 _Well, not in the same way, anyway._

 _Archer's the whole reason they're here, after all. She's missed him. He's not perfect, fine – no one is, she herself certainly isn't – and he's the only other person who experienced her childhood right here in this house._

 _There's no one like Archer._

 _And that's why they said yes, even though neither she nor Derek was thrilled about it. But she wants the time with her brother, and she's grateful for it._

" _Addie," her brother says now, shaking his head. "I'm just saying you could smile. It's Christmas, after all."_

" _Look, Archie, just because you can put up with Bizzy with a smile doesn't mean I can. I'm only here to see you, anyway."_

 _Archer looks smug for a minute, but then returns to his point. "Come on, she's not that bad."_

" _We're talking about the same person, right?" Addison raises an eyebrow. "About five-six, perfectly groomed, won't answer to 'mother' because it would erase her identity as – "_

" _That's the one," Archer says hurriedly. "You know what? I think you need another drink."_

 _He's not wrong, although she's made plenty of headway already. Say what you will about her parents, they've never skimped on the bar. Which is a good thing, because she's just this side of desperate and embarrassingly grateful that Derek volunteered to drive._

 _The estate is just how she remembered it, every time. Big and cold and somehow dark despite the dazzling chandeliers in both rooms where her parents prefer to entertain. It smells smoky and festive, mulled wine and cigars in the gazebo that her mother will pretend not to notice._

 _It's Christmas, but also it's not._

 _It's not Christmas the way she's grown used to celebrating it, with her husband's family in the modest and raucously noisy clapboard house about thirty miles and a dozen light years away from this one. There are no strings of popcorn, no delighted children baking cookies for Santa Claus, no nubbly homemade stockings or laughing adults keeping the magic alive for the little ones._

 _Here, in the house where she grew up, Christmas is cold. Colder than outside, cold enough to see her breath and wish she'd never come._

 _At least Archie is getting her another drink._

 _She'll go find Derek in the meantime – he'll make her feel better, even if it's just with a kiss or a reassuring squeeze. She'll finish her drink and they'll go to his mother's house._

 _She can do this._

 _Her gaze is caught on the way to the butler's kitchen, where she left Derek, by the glittering gold balls decorating the Christmas tree._

 _She stands in front of it for a moment – it's huge, at least fourteen feet, and it smells heavenly. It's draped in perfectly symmetrical garlands and equally sized globes of light. There are no ceramic handprints Bizzy would think were hideous or the Mickey Mouse dressed as Santa her sister-in-law loves and BIzzy would think was horribly tacky. This tree, unlike the one at the Shepherds', unlike the one in their own brownstone (it's small and pokey but they love it; they carried it themselves from the same Vermont based couple who have been selling them their tree on seventy-second street since they moved in) – is perfect._

 _She has a sudden urge to destroy that perfection. To make it look more like what it really is. Reaching one hand out, she almost grazes one glittering gold bauble when a cold voice stops her in her tracks._

" _Really, Addison."_

 _She glances up. Her mother is standing in the shadow of the tree, reflected light in her pale hair. She looks disapproving._

 _Shocking, that._

 _Addison is used to Bizzy disapproving of her. What was devastating at six and painful at twenty-six is now as natural as breathing. The nice thing about how predictable her family of origin is – if they can't surprise her, how much can they really hurt her?_

" _I thought you'd learned your lesson when you pulled the tree down when you were ten," Bizzy says._

 _That's a memory best forgotten._

" _I was eight," Addison points out. "And I – forget it."_

" _Have you had enough to drink, dear?" Bizzy asks coolly, switching topics._

 _The words aren't really a question, of course. Bizzy thinks she's had enough._

 _Addison glances at the cocktail in her mother's hand. Low blow, really. Low blow, lowball glass … she's amusing herself and she can tell from the look on Bizzy's face she's anything but amused._

" _I'll stop when I've had enough, so you don't have to worry about me," Addison says, her voice tight._

 _Bizzy studies her for a moment. "You always look so distracted when you're here," she says. "So bothered. If you didn't want to come, why did you?"_

" _I wanted to see Archer," Addison says stiffly. "And anyway, you invited us."_

 _Bizzy regards her without speaking. "I did," she says finally, coolly._

" _I wanted to see Archer," Addison repeats. "And I don't know, maybe I thought you wanted to – never mind, Bizzy. Forget it. I'll just stand here and you can insult me for a while. It's sport for you, isn't it?"_

 _Bizzy blinks. "Pardon me?"_

 _Addison shakes her head. "Forget it."_

 _Bizzy turns as if to leave, then turns back. "It's easy to judge from where you sit, isn't it? To look at me and tell me what a terrible mother I was? But you have no idea, Addison. You have no idea what it is to be a mother."_

" _And you do?" Addison raises her voice slightly, lowering it automatically at the fire in her mother's eyes. "You never bothered to mother us … Mother," she says, leaving ironic stress on the name Bizzy never liked to hear._

 _Bizzy's jaw is set. "You can't understand it," she says._

" _Understand what?_

 _Bizzy studies her for a moment. "Well, the apple doesn't usually fall far from the tree, does it, dear?"_

 _Addison feels chilly suddenly, as if the front door has opened. It's cold outside. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _It means, perhaps it's a good thing you and Derek aren't planning to have children of your own."_

 _She colder all over now. "I never said that."_

" _Then perhaps it's a good thing you've been too busy with your … career to have children."_

" _That's – no, that's – " Addison stops trying to talk. Her mouth isn't going to form the right words. How do you respond to a statement like that? How does someone take your worst fear and put into calm casual words next to a Christmas tree?_

" _There's nothing wrong with deciding not to have children, dear," Bizzy adds. "Not everyone is cut out to be a parent."_

 _The nerve …_

 _And her owns nerves, frayed from the tension of the estate she likes to avoid, from trying to avoid her mother. From trying to show Derek she can spend time with her family without losing it._

" _Derek does want to have children," she says, hating that her voice is shaking. "With me. He does."_

" _I'm sure that's what he told you," Bizzy says, her voice very quiet, "but really, Addison, how could you possibly be a mother?"_

 _Her heart thuds._

" _I'd be better than you were." Her voice is trembling outright now._

" _Would you?" Bizzy raises an eyebrow. "We all think that, don't we?"_

" _Derek thinks so," she says daringly._

" _Does he?" Calmly, Bizzy sips her drink._

 _Addison's mind races. Derek hasn't pressured her, if that's what Bizzy is getting at. He's understanding, her husband, enlightened – he knows how much more difficult it will be for her, pausing her career, that the calculus is different for women._

 _But that doesn't mean he thinks she'll be a bad mother._

 _Except that when she dares to meet her own mother's eyes – they look cool, very pale blue, almost amused – she knows that's what she's thinking._

" _It's not true," she whispers._

" _I didn't say anything," Bizzy points out, her tone light. "You know it's poor practice to assume."_

 _Now it's Addison who doesn't say anything._

 _She doesn't say anything at all._

 _Just turns, drained glass in hand, and runs straight into Derek in the foyer._

" _Addie." He steadies her with warm hands. "What's going on?"_

" _Hey." She tries to focus on his face. "Nothing, I'm just … tired."_

" _Bizzy?" he asks._

" _No, it's fine. Really."_

" _I knew we shouldn't have come." He shakes his head. "Let's get out of here, huh?"_

 _She's not going to say no to that._

 _Doesn't say much of anything, not really. The house where she finished her childhood tends to rob her of speech – she spent long days, months, all but silent as a child. If no one is listening, why talk?_

 _It seemed logical at the time._

 _Now, she's quiet because she doesn't trust her voice. Doesn't trust the fear that's bubbling up inside her as her mother's words echo inside her head._

 _She's quiet and the road stretches out long and black in front of them._

 _Derek rests a hand on her thigh the entire drive to his mother's. If she felt steadier she'd tell him not to, because the roads are winding and even Derek's dexterous grip should be doubled, but truthfully she needs that reassurance right now. His grip is doing more to warm her than the dry exhales of heat from the vents. The car feels small, tight – Derek loves the jeep, and she's not a fan but loves how much he loves it._

 _That's love, isn't it?_

 _Even if her mother thinks she has no idea what it is?_

" _You sure you're okay?" Derek pauses with one hand on the gearshift as he starts to turn up the empty road leading to his mother's house. She knows as well as he does that they'll be surrounded the minute they pull into the driveway, so this is their last moment of privacy._

" _Positive," she reassures him. "Drive, honey," she urges gently. "Everyone's waiting for us."_

" _Yeah." There's so little light in the car but what there is illuminates his eyes – they're terribly soft. "It's Christmas."_

" _It's Christmas," she repeats, a hint of a smile touching her lips in spite of herself._

 _As predicted, his family descends the moment they pull in, filling the frosty air with puffs of cold breath and shrieks of excitement and Christmas wishes. Their arms are full of nieces and nephews and packages all at once – even her mother-in-law is beaming to see them. One person is missing._

 _Nancy._

 _She's inside, protecting the tiny bundle in her arms from the chill._

 _Addison washes her hands first, just as much to warm them as to disinfect them, and then she's kneeling in front of a beaming Nancy, moving the swaddle gently to see the baby._

" _She's so beautiful."_

" _You saw her last week," Nancy reminds her, but she can't seem to help smiling._

" _Well, she's prettier now." Addison sits back on her heels. "She's doing great," she says, as much for her own benefit as Nancy's._

" _Thanks to you," Nancy points out. They both pause as Gabriel, energetic as always, bolts through the room, Nancy protecting Ruby's head out of instinct._

" _How's Gabe doing with the baby?"_

" _He hasn't body-slammed her yet," Nancy says wryly, "so I guess about as well as you could expect."_

 _They share a smile and then a soft sound comes from the blanket-wrapped bundle. The sweetest of coos. So gently it's almost a whisper, Addison lets the back of finger touch one impossibly silky cheek._

 _Ruby blinks sleepily and then opens wide blue eyes – just for a moment, just long enough for that inescapably adorable look of newborn confusion – her pink rosebud mouth opening in a yawn before she settles again, long lashes folding onto her cheeks._

 _Nancy cuddles her tiny daughter, sibilant murmurs soothing her back to sleep. She's mothering her, that's what she's doing, and then it's as if the crackling fire across the room and the warm water never existed, because she's cold again._

 _Nancy's a mother, that's what she's realizing, and she's not._

 _She was foolish to think she could be._

 _Shame burns her cheeks even as the rest of her shivers – Bizzy's words, wrapping around her._

 _Desperate to block it out, she touches one of Ruby's silky little fists and finds her throat thick with tears when the infant uncurls minuscule fingers and wraps them around Addison's comparatively giant one._

 _She has a really good grip._

" _Addie, are you okay?" Nancy looks puzzled._

 _She reassures her sister-in-law as best as she can before rising to her feet, making an excuse about freshening up. Purse in her hand, she's trying to figure out the best bet for privacy in the busy, loud Shepherd house, when a hand seizes her arm and tugs._

" _Derek!" She's startled as he pulls her into the surprisingly empty corner of the open family room, right by the tree._

" _Sorry," he says. "But it was empty and, you know, mistletoe…"_

 _She looks up, and can't help smiling. "Really?"_

" _Really." He makes a face somewhere between embarrassment and triumph and it's cute enough that she kisses him without further protest._

" _And it worked," he says. She makes a face at him._

" _Derek." She touches his chest lightly. "I just need to – "_

" _Wait," he urges. "It's so quiet and … you know we're never going to be alone again," Derek reminds her, grinning in a way that suddenly strips ten years away like a discarded winter coat, leaving him a boyish resident again._

 _She considers her experiences in his childhood home. "True," she admits. "What did you have in mind?" she's almost feeling like herself again, his teasing expression familiar enough to soothe her, and when he waggles his eyebrows in response she can't help laughing._

" _No, actually – I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm definitely not saying no, but actually I just wanted to give you something."_

" _Derek," she protests gently, not really meaning it, but it's their dance and the familiarity is comforting._

 _She watches as he withdraws something from his back pocket._

 _It's a card._

 _She smiles, touched at his earnestness. Derek is the kind of husband who gives her cards – Christmas, birthdays – and she keeps them all._

 _She lifts her eyes to meet his. They're bright with anticipation – and something else; is it … hope? She makes herself smile, forces herself to focus._

 _Carefully, she pries open the seal. Expecting a Christmas palette, she's surprised to see the front of the card emerging from the envelope. There are no colors at all – it's a muted black and white, and the picture on the front is a slightly soft-focus pair of hands. They're … older, gnarled really, and each has a ring. Spidery script across the top reads:_

" _You still take my breath away."_

 _Derek reads it out to her, looking almost shy. "I, uh, I know it's not a Christmas card, but the thing is that I didn't have – "_

" _I love it," she reassures him, looking again at the knotted hands on the front of the card. The picture is so spare and yet somehow there's love in those two hands. She glances up at Derek. "It's so sweet," she says smiling._

" _Yeah?" He smiles back at her. "You're sweet." He pulls her close and his lips on hers feel so good, except Bizzy's words are echoing in her head._

" _Addie. What's wrong?" He pulls back, looking concerned._

" _Nothing," she says, but the word isn't quite coming out right._

" _I just – um, I just need a minute."_

 _The card hangs unread in her fingers unread as she escapes the room. She hears him calling her name but she can't turn around. All she can do is put one foot in front of the other, one breath in front of the other, shove the card mindlessly into her purse as she locks herself in the first bathroom she finds to stare in the mirror at her haunted eyes._

 _Who is she? The woman staring back at her, is she as terrible as Bizzy says?_

 _Her reflection just looks back silently, miserably. She searches the contours of her face for anything suggesting she's not in fact terrible. That she's worthy of love, of patience – of a family._

 _She's not sure how long it is before her cramped fingers loosen their hold on the sink and she forces them to smooth her hair and fix her makeup, make herself presentable again._

 _By the time she rejoins the family it could have been minutes or hours or years, but she's pulled together and she makes her voice bright and her words joyful and tells herself over and over again, It's-Christmas-It's-Christmas and she tries to forget the feel of Ruby's silky fingers closing over hers, the color of Derek's eyes when he looked sadly at her under the tree._

" _You okay?" That's all he asks when he sees her again; she's been distracting herself with her nieces and nephews – it's easy when they jump all over her, eager and innocent._

" _I'm okay," she assures him, even giving him a quick kiss, but she doesn't look too long at his eyes, just in case._

 _He looks like he's starting to say something, so she cuts him off: "Merry Christmas, Derek." She leans in for a kiss, and then lets Kathleen's middle daughter grab her hand and pull her away, grateful for the excuse._

 _The more distracted she is, the quieter her mother's voice gets._

 _But it doesn't quite go away._

..

..

And that was her Christmas, six years ago.

That was the card.

There's only one problem … she never read it.

"So you do remember the card?" Derek asks, looking hopeful.

"I do," she says carefully, trying not to give him false hope. "I just don't know ... what's inside it."

He looks confused.

"I mean, I never read it."

"You never read it?" He tilts his head. "No, that's not right."

"I'm sorry, Derek, I was distracted …."

"No, I mean it's not right. I _know_ you read it, Addie. You read it right in front of me. I saw you read it, and that's why –"

He stops talking.

"What happened next?" he asks, instead, before she can follow up on what he said. "In your – memory, I mean."

"Next? It was just … Christmas," she says, ruefully. "We ate and drank and the kids ran around, and your mother played carols and then you got a call from someone at St. Catherine's who wanted you to – "

"I said no," Derek says, looking confused. "I remember that call. I told him no, that it was Christmas."

"Not my Christmas," Addison says softly.

For long moments they're both quiet.

"You really never read the card," Derek confirms, slowly. His voice sounds far away. "In your … memory, I mean. You never read it."

"No." She's a little embarrassed. "I, uh, I don't even think I remembered the card at all until now," she admits. Closing her eyes briefly, she can feel the flat, shiny surface. See the image on the front, the words. But the inside is a mystery.

She never even opened it.

"Derek." She opens her eyes. "Do you still have it? The card?"

He nods.

Of course, he must, because the other Addison came across it, didn't she?

And then she realizes she knows where it is. It's in the –

" – birch box," Derek says, finishing her thought as if they actually no longer need words.

She nods; there was no question. She used to keep all the cards he gave her, in that finely carved little keepsake box.

She kept it with their Christmas things, and it always seemed appropriate.

A cry from the other room distracts her – it's a playful cry, not a sad one; she can recognize them easily, recognize these children she never thought she'd meet. The next one is an anxious cry, though. Then little feet pound the wooden floors and Ellie is there, hanging onto Derek's legs. "Hide me!" she squeals.

Nicky swings around the archway moments later in his Christmas pajamas, growling, his little hands raised and curled with mock menace. "I'm going to eat you up!" he says to Ellie, who shrieks, grabbing at her father.

Derek scoops her up, holding her securely high over her brother's head.

"Hey, Nicky … I think your claws are scaring your sister," Derek says calmly.

"But Ellie said she _wanted_ me to be the monster," Nicky protests, sounding hurt. His small hands relax back into their normal shape.

"Not a _scary_ monster," Ellie says from her safe perch feet above her brother's head. "A _nice_ one."

"But monsters aren't nice," Nicky reminds her.

"But they should be!"

Addison covers a smile with her palm.

"You know what," Derek says conversationally to both children, and Addison can hear the smile in his voice without even looking up, "I think it's time to take a break from monsters – nice ones and scary ones. How about a Christmas movie?"

"A movie in the _morning_?" Nicky asks, eyes wide with hopeful disbelief.

Derek gives Addison an amused look. "They act like we're running a Dickensian orphanage." To Nicky, he says: "Yes, a movie in the morning. Don't get used to it, Nickles, Christmas is special."

"I know that!" He bounces happily on his toes. "Ellie, come on!"

She doesn't have to be beckoned twice; she wriggles eagerly down from Derek's arms, her brief moment of fear forgotten, and darts out of the kitchen toward the family room.

Nicky lingers, though.

"Nick?" Derek ruffles his hair. "Don't you want to come watch the movie?"

"Where are you going to be?" Nicky asks, looking from Derek to Addison.

"Here," Derek says. "Packing."

Nicky still looks uncertain. "Mommy too?" he asks.

Derek glances at Addison. But before he can answer, Ellie's voice echoes from the playroom across the foyer, calling for her father.

"I'll be right back," Derek says, looking from Nicky to Addison. She gives him a little nod, as if to say, I can handle this.

 _Where did that come from?_

Where, indeed, because the moment she and Nicky are alone, he turns wide blue eyes up to her.

"Mommy … are you going somewhere?"

There's a note of worry in his voice that tugs at her heart and somehow … compels her not to lie. "We're all going somewhere," she reminds him gently. "We're going to Montauk today."

"I know, but …." Nicky's voice trails off. He's playing with the cuffs of his Christmas pajamas now in a way that makes her want to squeeze him, to take his fears into her own body and protect him from them.

Is that what motherhood is? This surge of protectiveness?

 _Not to my mother, it wasn't._

The sarcastic reply to her own musing catches her up short. Her mother. Bizzy.

She needs to find her.

"Mommy," Nicky murmurs again, softly, his expression troubled, and she decides Bizzy can wait.

She settles in the kitchen chair closest to Nicky; he approaches immediately and she lifts him into her lap. He's big – bigger than Ellie, as sturdy as he is sweet – but when he leans against her she has a flicker of hazy memory of a much smaller boy cuddled up to her for comfort or just for closeness. It's gone as quickly as it appears, but the warmth of the borrowed memory remains. That lucky other Addison, the one who mothered these children – it's her memory.

Just as Nicky is _her_ child.

Just as surely as she knows that whatever is in that card must have played a role in Nicky's creation.

She concentrates on Nicky himself instead of his mystery, stroking the soft brown hair that falls in cowlick-curls the way she's seen in childhood pictures of Derek.

"It's okay," she tells him softly, even if she's not sure that it is.

 _Nicky will be okay. Ellie, and Derek too – they all will. I'm so close to figuring it out and then they can have the other Addison back. They'll all be together, and I'll –_

… and she'll be alone.

That's the part she pushes down when she cradles the little boy on her lap.

"I don't want you to go," Nicky whispers against her shirt.

She presses her lips to his soft hair.

 _I don't want to go either._

"Nicky," she says, getting an idea, "do you remember how Bear gets home for Christmas?"

The little boy leans back, giving her a curious look, but nods.

"That's all we're doing, sweetie. We're just – getting home for Christmas."

"But why can't you stay here?"

Not for the first time, she feels a little prickle of wonder – is she reading too much into his words?

"Why don't you want to be here?" he asks this time, his voice sad.

"I do. I swear I do," she says before she can stop herself. "I want to be here more than anything," she admits. "Nicky, the thing is …"

What is she doing? Isn't it enough that Derek is confused, scared by her lack of memories – does she really want Nicky to feel the same fear?

Of course she doesn't.

So she just goes silent, rocks him a little, whispers reassurances. He's not big, Nicky. He's small, and he's scared. He needs his mother.

"You're my mommy," he whispers.

Did she imagine the stress on _you're_?

Was it in her head?

"I'm right here," she tells him, because it's true.

For now … it's true.

She holds him tightly and tries to memorize him.

Her shirt feels damp, warm where his tears are wetting it.

 _Bizzy, I don't care what lesson you were trying to teach or karmic wrong you were trying to right, if you hurt these children, I swear …_

But she has no way to finish the sentence, because she has no power.

"Nicky," she nudges him gently. "Hey."

She waits for him to peer up at her, tears in his long eyelashes. She smiles down at him, feeling tears in her own eyes.

"Remember in _Bear Gets Home for Christmas_ , what Bear tells his forest friends?" she asks him. "Before he leaves the forest, do you remember what he says?"

"He says, _I will love you forever,_ "Nicky recites, sniffling a little.

"Exactly." She kisses the top of his head. "And I will."

Seemingly comforted by this, Nicky settles against her and she rests her cheek against his hair.

If only forever could last beyond Christmas…

"Addie?"

She glances up; Derek, in the open archway, looks concerned. She gives him the most reassuring smile she can.

"Nicky." She smooths his curls. "You want to go watch that movie, sweetie?"

He draws a shaky little breath that makes her heart twist and then leans back. Slowly, he nods.

"Good." She kisses the top of his head again.

Derek holds his hand out to his son and Nicky slides down from Addison's lap. She watches him walk out of the kitchen hand in hand with his father, two dark heads feet apart but somehow similar even from the back.

 _I could have seen that every day._

She presses her hand to her mouth, unsure in the moment if the beauty she's discovered here is more painful than not.

..

"What was that about?" Derek asks casually when he returns to the kitchen. Addison has busied herself with another cup of coffee – you can't cry when you're drinking coffee, it's a trick any resident knows.

"Nicky?" she confirms. "He was just a little … sad."

Derek nods, even though she's pretty sure she hasn't given him much information.

"Is he okay now?" she asks.

"He seems okay. More than okay," Derek amends. "He and Ellie are sharing that blanket my mom made when …"

His voice trails off.

Derek's starting to do what she does, she notices. Starting a memory and realizing he shouldn't finish it because she won't remember.

Guilt tugs at her. He thinks the woman he married has forgotten the details of their life together. Their marriage, their children.

 _It will be okay. He'll get his Addison back and everything will go back to normal._

She reminds herself it's her own fault that _normal_ in her world is so different, so quiet and devoid of the laughter of children, of the warm secure presence of a hand at the small of her back.

Her own fault, because she …

… well, she's about to find out.

"Derek," she says, and she doesn't have to say _the card_ because he's nodding.

"I'll go get it," he tells her.

..

For something that might contain the answer to the mystery that she hasn't been able to solve – for something that could mean the difference between the family the other Addison created and the lonely life she herself has been living for the last three years …

… for something that powerful, the card is awfully ordinary.

Normal.

It's an off-white envelope, the edges a big soft and frayed as if it's been handled a lot.

The paper is thin, cheap-feeling. It reminds her of the kind of card you might grab if you waited until the last minute.

For long moments, she just holds the envelope, running her fingers along its smooth blank surface as if the answers are printed in Braille.

Derek, who has given her some space but can't seem to stay too far away, leaning his elbows on the table, just watches.

They're still in the kitchen – it feels more private, somehow, than the big open living room that's closer to where the children are engrossed in a Christmas movie.

It feels appropriate, somehow. The kitchen was somehow the first and strangest part of this new world for her, when she arrived.

 _Startling, heart-stopping domesticity_

That's what she remembers thinking, that first night.

Now the warmth of the kitchen, the homey clinging scents of freshly-brewed coffee and sweet cinnamon toast – feels familiar. Undeservedly so, but still familiar. She basks in it, shamelessly, for just a moment. She's certain she needs to hold on to what she can.

It won't be long, now.

Christmas is almost here.

"Addie," Derek says gently. "Are you – are you going to open it?"

 _If I do, will I transport back to the beach, alone?_

She can't share that fear. He's being so patient, so understanding, but she knows he doesn't believe she's a different person from the one he married. There's no reason why he would.

All of this is nothing more or less than unbelievable.

It's mystery, fantasy, but the card is real and his hand that's resting on her thigh now, warm and reassuring, is real too.

So she pulls the card out of the envelope.

It's just as she remembered.

The front of the card isa muted black and white picture of a slightly soft-focus pair of hands. Older, rather gnarled-looking hands, and each has a ring.

Spidery script across the top reads:

 _You still take my breath away._

The words fill her as she recites them, out loud.

Derek's lips are quirked, like he's fighting a smile.

He remembers the card. He must remember something completely different, about the card.

What he remembers … she knows … is that she read it. In his world, his Addison read it.

And now she's going to read it too.

Carefully, almost fearfully, she opens the card.

The ink is a little faded – six years old now – but Derek's familiar handwriting is unmistakable. She knows the backward slant of his As and the spikey way he crosses his Ts better than she knows her own letters.

The letters form words.

Lots and lots of words – the card is filled with them.

And the words blur in front of her eyes.

"Derek … when did you write this?"

He smiles softly. "At the hospital," he says. "The night – "

"The night Ruby was born," Addison whispers. "That's why it's not a Christmas card."

"Slim pickings in the hospital gift shop," Derek admits. "And I only had a minute to grab it."

Addison swallows, no longer able to hold back her tears. She feels his fingers, warm and gentle, brushing them away, but not before one of them drops onto the surface of the card, blurring the blue ink.

It's still legible, though. She reads it again, through her tears this time.

" _Addie – I told you once I stopped breathing when you looked at me across the cadaver the first time I saw you. I stand by that. The thing is, you've been doing it ever since. I was there the first time you delivered a baby and you took my breath away then. You were so brave and sure even though god, looking back, we were just babies ourselves. Hardly doctors at all. And I'm here tonight when you just made another miracle. And I want to be there when you deliver our babies. You are the most incredible person I've ever met. You love so much it scares me sometimes, and you've made me the luckiest husband in the world sharing that love with me. Let's share it with more people – let's make a family, you and me. Will told me tonight that no one's ever ready to have kids, the first time or even the fifth, but you just hold your breath and jump. I know you're scared and I'm scared too – but I know we can do it. We're Derek and Addison."_

There's an extra line before the rest of the card, as if he paused before he started writing again.

She keeps reading.

" _It's our choice, it's our family, so If you don't want this, I won't push you, I promise. I won't ask you again if you don't say anything. Just think about it, okay? It's almost Christmas – our season – and seeing you with Ruby just reminded me what a great mother you're going to be. I love you, Addison. You still take my breath away … and I have a feeling you always will."_

And then at the bottom of the card there's just the letter _D_.

He signed all his cards to her that way. No _love_ or anything like that. Not for Derek. He filled the whole card with love; when it came time to sign one letter sufficed.

She holds the card in two hands, tightly but carefully, like it's something fragile that could break.

The card that she never read.

She was upset about what Bizzy said, that night, she was distracted, and she never read it.

 _I won't ask you again if you don't say anything,_ that's what Derek wrote in the card.

Not just this Derek.

 _Her_ Derek. Her Derek wrote that card too. He wrote it and he handed it to her and she never read it. Never found out what he was trying to say.

A thousand memories blur in front of her eyes like the tear-streaked handwriting on the card. Every small choice from that moment on, every word and gesture.

 _I won't push you, I promise._

She never read it, Derek never followed up about it.

They never talked about it again.

And if she's honest with herself, maybe they never really _talked_ the way they used to after that at all.

She would have been ready.

If not for …

"Bizzy," she says softly.

Derek looks confused.

"I'm sorry. I want to keep talking, Derek, I – I just need to find her."

"Find Bizzy?" Derek shakes his head. "Addie, she's in Connecticut, what do you mean?"

But she's not.

And apologizing to Derek, holding close to her heart the card she never got to read six years ago, she assures him she'll be right back.

As if she's known it all along, she heads for the front hall, straight up the stairs, into her bedroom and right to her walk in closet.

This time, the door doesn't open by itself.

This time, it's on her.

Wrapping her hand around the knob, she pulls the door wide.

Only to see rows of clothes, neatly stored shoes, handbags in protective coverings, and … nothing else.

She pauses.

"Bizzy … I know you're in there."

For a moment of confusing silence she starts to doubt her own sureness.

But then, with a slight rustling of her collection of lightweight spring blouses, her mother emerges looking unruffled and perfectly like herself.

"So," Bizzy says, looking her up and down. "You've figured everything out?"

"I don't know," Addison admits. The sureness is draining out of her. "I thought maybe I had, but … then I think maybe I haven't figured anything out. That maybe I don't know anything at all."

"I've felt that way myself," Bizzy says, and at first Addison is just surprised to hear Beatrice Forbes Montgomery admit to _feeling_ anything.

Then she absorbs the content of Bizzy's statement.

"But you're the one who has the answers," she reminds her mother.

"Is that what you think?"

Addison shrugs.

"The children think you have the answers," Bizzy observes mildly. "Don't they?"

"They think I'm their mother." Addison studies the grain of the hardwood floor. She's not going to cry in front of Bizzy.

"Aren't you?"

"You know I'm not."

Bizzy just looks at her without speaking.

"The card," Addison says quietly.

"You read it, then."

"I read it." Addison tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to calm herself. "Six years after he wrote it."

Bizzy's expression is hard to read. It's not harsh, not judgment. It's … something softer than that, sentimental almost.

Not guilt.

It can't be guilt … can it?

Beatrice Forbes Montgomery doesn't feel _guilty_.

"That day," Addison says, gathering speed as she forms the words, "that Christmas when you and I – when we had that – conversation," and Bizzy looks almost grateful for the euphemism. "Derek gave me the card, and I didn't read it. I was distracted, I was upset, and I didn't read it. _That's_ the day where it happened. That'sthe zig instead of the zag." She pauses. "Right?"

Bizzy's words echo in her head.

 _Well, dear, the apple doesn't usually fall far from the tree. Perhaps it's a good thing you and Derek aren't planning to have children of your own._

Here in the present, in this familiar-unfamiliar room that is half the bedroom she remembers and half filled with memories she never earned, her mother looks ashamed, as if she can hear the words from That Christmas too.

"I was bitter about my own life," Bizzy says. "That day. I was … angry, and bitter. It was never about you. I never thought … "

She stops talking, but Addison understands. Bizzy never thought _that_ would be the turning point. The choice that changed everything.

How could she? Addison didn't even know, and it was her life.

"That's the day," Addison repeats. "If I could do that day over, then – " she stops talking. "But that's not possible."

Bizzy doesn't respond.

"What about you?" Addison asks. "If there were some way for me to fix it? You'd be with Thea?"

"No, dear, the whole point was to show you that you _didn't_ need us to change your life. You just needed to change your own perspective."

"But that night, that … you said … "

"I've said many things. I'm sorry they were … too loud for you to hear your own voice."

Addison draws a deep breath, confused. Bizzy's words sound less like the Red Queen's now but she's still confused. "But you and Thea … you were so happy."

"Yes." Bizzy looks thoughtful. "That was nice, wasn't it?"

"But does that mean the other world is the real one?"

"It doesn't work like that."

Addison sighs, still confused as she tries to put everything together. So much for figuring it all out. "So you're not really with Thea, then … but you still have Susan, right?

Bizzy is quiet for a moment.

"Don't worry about me, Addison. This is about _you_ making changes," Bizzy says then, her voice brisk as if she's giving instructions to her staff. "If I can send you back to Christmas six years ago … but you'd have to _go_. You'd have to take care of this. You can't worry about me."

"But why can't I fix things for you too? You're so happy here, in this world," Addison says, thinking of the warm bright farmhouse they visited.

"Yes. I am." Bizzy nods, and she looks almost like there are tears in her eyes. "But … focus on what you need to do, dear."

Addison is quiet, thoughts whirling in her mind. If she could go back, if she could fix that day – read the card, absorb those words she never saw, realize how much Derek believed in her … then this could really be her life?

For a moment she dares herself to hope, lets it fill her, but then her stomach sinks.

She can't do it.

Not when the Other Addison is trapped in her lonely life in California. The Addison who read the card, who took the chance – this is her husband, these are her children, this beautiful life is hers. She's the one who deserves it, and Addison can't leave her to pay for choices she never made.

"The other me," she says tentatively, looking at Bizzy. "What's going to happen to her?"

"Oh, Addison. There is no _other_ you, dear. There is only one you, and many choices."

The words sink in, slowly.

And then she suddenly notices that Bizzy isn't wearing the smart Chanel jacket she was wearing the last time. She's wearing a silk wrap dress tailored perfectly to her figure with a brocade coat in complementary shades: dove grey, palest mint. Diamonds sparkle at her throat.

"Bizzy," she asks, confused. "Why are you so dressed up?"

Her mother smiles faintly. "Really, dear, what a question. It's almost Christmas, isn't it?"

 _You don't have much time. It's almost Christmas._

Addison's eye is caught now on the necklace she's admired from the time she was a child, draped around her mother's neck.

Diamonds in the pattern of a sunburst, delicate and bold all at once.

Bizzy sees her looking and smiles. "You always liked the Bulgari. Ever since you were a little girl."

"And you always said I'd never get my hands on it until you were …"

She stops talking because Bizzy's hands have risen and are now unhooking the necklace from around her neck.

Addison's heart flutters.

"Bizzy? What are you doing?"

Bizzy just looks at her for one long, silent moment, then holds out the necklace. "Here. The necklace is for you."

"What?"

"The gifts are for the children." Bizzy gestures to two wrapped boxes Addison hadn't noticed, sitting on the floor of the closet. "And the necklace is for you."

"But you're still alive," Addison says bluntly, confused. "Why would you give me the necklace?"

Bizzy looks past her for a moment. "Yes, well. Take it now, dear, in case I forget later."

"In case you – no, Bizzy, you wouldn't forget."

She's rambling, her heart speeding up, trying to make sense of this newest confusion.

"Remember what I told you, Addison. There are many choices in a woman's life." Bizzy reaches out and drapes the glittering circle of diamonds around Addison's own neck, fastening it. She's frozen under the cold jewels. "Sometimes, one can choose to help another make the right choice."

"What does that mean? I don't understand, Bizzy. I thought you were done talking in riddles. You _said_ I could fix it. That if I figured it out I could fix it."

"I did say that. And you did figure it out. You were always a smart girl. Smarter than your brother, but he was more confident. You … doubted yourself. That's my doing, perhaps. I pushed you too hard, or too far … I regret it. I regret so much about it."

"Bizzy." Addison shakes her head, not sure she's ready to hear this.

"You figured it out, Addison," Bizzy says suddenly, fiercely. "You figured it out in time."

 _It's almost Christmas._

"I figured it out," Addison repeated. "But then – but then what does that _mean_? Shouldn't everything be okay, then? If I figured it out, then I can fix it."

"You can fix your mistake, Addison. Not mine."

"No. Bizzy, that's not fair, how can you do this for me and then …"

"We all have choices. So many choices. So many things we could go back to fix. Maybe _doing this_ is what I needed to fix."

"Bizzy, wait – "

"Merry Christmas, Addison."

Bizzy takes one step closer. She reaches up and rests her hand with its familiar rings on the top of Addison's head for just a moment, like a benediction.

And then she's gone.

* * *

 _To be continued. One more chapter. We got this. Thank you so much for reading. Reviews are love and warm enough to melt the snow, so please review! xoxo_


	18. All the Best of What We've Done

**_A/N: Thank you, my beautiful wonderful readers, for waiting so long and so patiently for this update. This story has a special place in my heart: it was a summer indulgence and then a seasonally appropriate Christmas story and now another summer is starting just as this story is ending. This is the final chapter. Letting go is bittersweet, but even though this story is ending, the Addek Revolution is just beginning. I'm not going anywhere. I hope you enjoy this final chapter._**

 ** _(Song lyrics, naturally, from Ryan Star's "Losing Your Memory.")_**

* * *

 _ **All the Best of What We've Done**_

* * *

 ** _.._**

 ** _Wake up, it's time, little girl, wake up_**  
 ** _All the best of what we've done is yet to come...  
_ _Just remember who I am in the morning_**

 ** _.._**

* * *

 _Bizzy takes one step closer. She reaches up and rests her hand with its familiar rings on the top of Addison's head for just a moment, like a benediction._

 _And then she's gone._

 _... just like that, leaving Addison's mind swimming._

 _Gone._

Bizzy, gone.

The heavy circle of jewels around her own neck now.

But it can't be. Bizzy would never leave the Bulgari behind.

 _You'll have to pry it out of my cold hands before the pastor finds out,_ she used to say that to Addison when she caught her admiring the necklace.

And yet … Bizzy _is_ gone, leaving along with the sparkling necklace a fleeting sensation of warmth at the crown of Addison's head where her hand rested moments before.

In a world the contours of which should never have existed, it's remarkable that she can still feel surprise, still feel wrong-footed.

But she does.

She stands unmoving, trying to understand, until Derek calls her name from downstairs and then with shaking fingers she unfastens the necklace and tucks it into the drawer of her nightstand. And then she leaves behind the bedroom another version of herself called home to join him.

Derek is waiting for her, holding the card when she reaches him, that innocuous seeming little envelope.

Four by six inches of life-changing regret.

Why didn't she read it?

Why didn't he ask?

She surprises herself, a bit, by walking directly into his arms. His close around her in return, and she can feel the outlined edges of the card against her back. He's still holding it. Six years of _could have been_ dry in her throat as their heartbeats mingle between them. She's been indulging in his touch, bathing in it, and now she lets herself admit in silence how much she's hoped each one won't be a farewell.

Not yet.

She's not ready, not when his arms still feel so warm and so right.

The faint sounds of the Christmas movie playing in the den swirl around them as she rests her cheek against his shoulder, letting the solid realness of him reassure her.

Inhale, exhale, _remember_ : the rhythm of her life in this world.

"Derek…"

He leans back, one hand still wrapped around the card, and cups her cheek with his other hand. His voice is a little husky when he responds, a little hesitant, like he's worried about what she's going to say.

She smiles, as reassuringly as she can manage, and brings her own hand up to his face, letting it settle in his hair.

"…let's go to the beach," she says.

..

There's something odd about packing, and helping the children pack, when she so deeply doesn't want to leave.

Her arrival seems so long ago now, so fuzzy and half-real and she treads the hallway that's become familiar again.

She doesn't want to leave.

She shouldn't want to pack.

And yet she feels compelled to, for some reason: it was she who assured Derek she was ready, who encouraged the children into compliance with words of excitement about the impending journey.

"Packing," Nicky says in a serious tone when she finds him in his cheerful room, kneeling on the thick blue rug protecting him from the hardwood floor underneath.

Ellie is standing behind her brother, placing things at random into the little suitcase – here a stuffed tiger, there a picture book about trucks.

She beams when she sees Addison. "Mommy, I'm helping Nicky," she announces, sounding pleased with herself, as she adds a small rubber figurine of a motorboat.

"I see that." Addison smiles at both of them. "What about your things, El?"

The little girl hesitates, a pensive expression crossing her sweet face. "Daddy will pack them!" she says brightly after a moment.

"They have everything they need there," Derek says gently, in the tone of a reminder, "the bags are just for what they want."

She considers the difference as she watches Derek help Nicky to zip up his bag – Ellie helps, too, by sitting on top of it rather like a giggling cat.

"Wait!" Nicky is standing on his tiptoes. "Bizzy's presents!"

Addison is startled for a moment, then remembers.

 _The gifts are for the children. And the necklace is for you._

"Oh, that's right." Derek ruffles his son's hair. "Bizzy gave them to me when we were in Connecticut to make sure you would have them in time."

 _No she didn't,_ Addison whispers silently, _she gave them to me and you just don't know it._

But there's too much going on to wonder, the children laughing with delight as they tumble into their parents' bedroom in search of their grandmother's presents.

"They always open Bizzy's gifts before we leave for Montauk," Derek says softly to her, like a political aide trained to give background. She squeezes his hand with gratitude, with wonder, at who he's turned out to be.

 _It's not just me who's different and the same all at once._

"This one is for you," Derek is saying now, "from Bizzy." And then she hears the word _necklace_ and her stomach clenches.

But it's not the necklace she expected. Resting in Derek's open palm is a small locket of burnished gold, oval and intricately carved. Antique. "She said you would recognize it," Derek continues.

She does.

"It was Grandmother Forbes's," Addison says slowly, remembering. She only met her maternal grandmother a few times. She was white-haired and imposing, but Addison can recall standing at her knee while the old woman appraised her, _red hair, Beatrice, really?_ – and reaching out for the necklace, quickly pulling her hand back at a sharp look from her mother. Grandmother Forbes caught her looking, though, and opened it up to let her see the pictures inside. On one side a sweet faced baby with ringlets, _Bizzy, it's Bizzy,_ she didn't know her mother had ever been that small, and on the other side a stern looking man in an old fashioned hat. Her Grandfather Forbes. _How come she was wearing those pictures?_ Addison asked her nanny later, at bedtime, since she never told her to be quiet when she had questions, _is it 'cause she forgot what they look like?_ Nanny smiled, _no, her memory is fine,_ that's what he said. _She just wants to remember them._

Why did she want to remember them, if she hadn't forgotten them?

She didn't ask the question on that long ago day.

She thinks she might know the answer on this one.

With careful fingers, she opens the locket, expecting to see the pictures of her mother and grandfather in each of the small frames.

"Addie?"

She smiles weakly so he won't worry, tracing the locket with the pad of her thumb.

It's not the same.

It's different.

On one side, miniature photograph of both Nicky and Ellie, together, close up and tiny but she can still see the boy's arm slung over his sister's shoulder. The captured versions of them are beaming at the camera. And on the other side, Derek, in three-quarters profile as if he's looking at the children. She recognizes the picture, though, a version of the one in the bedroom resting on the bureau right now.

It's not the children he was looking at in that shot, his eyes soft, his smile genuine.

It was her.

"She did a good job," Derek observes mildly. "Or Thea did – she's so crafty, remember the quilt she … ." His voice trails off. "Addie? Don't you like it?"

Her fist closes around the locket.

She doesn't _like_ it.

There's no word for how she feels about it.

Swallowing the tears that threaten, wondering how her mother knew exactly what she needed to remember, she draws a deep breath and lifts her hair away from her neck.

Derek recognizes the silent gesture and fastens the necklace around her throat. He presses a kiss to the back of her neck when he's finished, brushing her hair aside to do so.

 _He always did that when he helped with my necklaces. When he zipped up my dresses._

She touches the locket. It's a long chain, and the closed gold frame rests just over her heart; it feels alive, warm, like it has its own pulse.

 _She just wants to remember them._

"Mommy, look!" Nicky is beaming, holding up a box. "It's a really hard puzzle of a forest. With bears!"

Addison admires the gift as Ellie finishes tearing the paper off hers. "Ooh," she breathes with wonder, and holds up a small pink bottle shaped like a bunny. Derek examines it. "Nail polish," he says, sounding confused. "All natural, non-toxic, safe for children," he reads, and Addison isn't surprised when he smiles, "more of Thea's help."

Ellie looks enchanted, holding up her hands for the gift. "I want it," she pleads, "I want pink toes like Mommy's."

Addison strokes the little girl's hair as Derek assures her she can have it, but can't use it without their supervision – and the child safe closure and non-breakable outsides support that rule. It's a clever gift and from Ellie's expression, it's one she wanted.

Addison recalls wanting nail polish when she was young, perhaps a little older than Ellie, enchanted by a pretty nanny's red toenails. Clara, that was her name. She painted Addison's toenails at her request and when she proudly showed her mother the next time she saw her, Bizzy's face telegraphed her disapproval. _Trashy_ , that's what she called it, and, _I imagine you're satisfied,_ that's what she said to the Captain before she ordered Addison to take if off.

She remembers telling Savvy that story one tipsy freshman night as the blonde painted her toenails dark red. _Nail polish isn't trashy_ , Savvy – a veteran of a string of debutante balls – protested. _It's nice._

"Can I paint Nicky too?" Ellie is asking eagerly.

"If he wants you to," Derek says, smiling down at his daughter.

"Maybe." Nicky is busy tracing the outlines of the puzzle with one small finger. "Can we do this now?"

"Not now, but you can bring it with us to the beach," Derek says. He pockets Ellie's nail polish as she, too, begs to bring her present along.

And then, at last, they're ready to go.

Derek hauls their suitcases down the stairs and then goes to get the car while Addison gives the downstairs a quick once-over, _they have everything they need there_. On her last circuit, something catches her eye – a hardcover book, its cover sharper than a memory.

 _Bear Gets Home for Christmas._

Nicky's favorite. "Do you want me to –"

But the little boy is already shaking his head _no,_ taking her hand and pulling her toward the door where his little bear-headed hat hangs from a peg at his height. Ellie is holding her bunny-eared one in her hands already.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" Nicky asks as she rests a hand on each of their heads. Bunny and bear, daughter and son. Two Christmas babies.

"Nothing, sweetie," she assures Nicky. She fingers the locket around her neck.

 _Memorizing you. That's what I was doing._

..

"Bye, house," Nicky says casually as Addison locks up the brownstone behind them. Derek left first, to warm up the car, braving the chill so the rest of them don't need to.

She won't cry. Not because of that.

The heated car is cozy and close. The city lights fade rapidly and then they're riding through velvety darkness, both children requesting Christmas carols and singing along until Nicky requests a stop.

The air feels different when they pile out together, the adults stretching legs stiff from the car. Fresher, sharper. As if there's more of it, and she inhales a lungful, pausing to look around at their new location.

It's a little roadside shop with a pebbled drive and frosted windows, unfamiliar to her but from Nicky's smile he knows it.

"Ice cream," Ellie requests sleepily from her hip as they approach, puffs of visible breath escaping her pink lips. She must know this place too.

Addison kisses the top of her fragrant head as the belled door swings shut behind them. Inside, it's mercifully warm. "It's a little cold out there for ice cream, El."

"Mommy." Ellie holds Addison's face with her two small hands, her expression serious. "Ice cream is the good kind of cold."

Addison can't help laughing and stealing a kiss from one soft round cheek. When she looks up she notices an older woman paused in front of the racks of nuts and dried fruit.

The woman gives Addison a rueful smile. "Enjoy her now," she says, nodding toward the child in Addison's arms. "It goes fast. A snap, and then all you have are memories."

 _You have no idea._

Addison just smiles back weakly.

Derek emerges with Nicky then, who looks triumphant and sheepish at the same time – which is turn makes him look so much like his father she has to try not to laugh.

She catches the expression of the older woman who spoke to her earlier, when she sees Derek and Nicky, when Derek rests his free hand on Addison's back to lead them all out the door.

 _We look perfect._

She ponders this as Derek holds the door for her, as they all exhale into the cold gusty air leading them back to the car.

Derek buckles Nicky in while Addison does the same for Ellie. The complicated series of straps and locks somehow makes sense, each piece sliding into the other with a satisfying _click._ She waits for Ellie's comment – the little girl has been in turns helpful and encouraging when it comes to Addison's attempts to buckle her in – but she's already dozed off again.

"The car's not even moving." Derek shakes his head, looking fondly at the sleeping child. By the time Addison has fastened her own seatbelt, she can see in the mirror that Nicky, who's making a half-hearted attempt to play with a Rubik's cube, is nearing sleep himself.

 _They love the car._

The thought pops into her head unbidden. Tentatively, she lets it, welcoming the brief swirl of someone's else's memories that follows: early days with Nicky, the tiny boy crying inconsolably and his parents not far behind – wrapping him warmly and bundling him into the car. Derek would drive aimlessly late at night, in big looping squares, until the rhythm of the moving vehicle lulled their son to sleep.

The memory is gone as soon as it arrives, leaving behind a lingering scent of something fresh, like baby powder. The infant Nicky seems terribly far from this car now, from the solid little boy currently dozing off with both hands clamped firmly around the puzzle he hasn't yet solved.

"Addie?"

She glances at Derek, who has his eyes on the road yet she can tell is somehow also seeing her at the same time. He frees a hand from the wheel and rests it on her thigh, briefly. "You okay?" he asks.

"I'm okay."

He smiles at her.

 _We're not perfect. No one's perfect._

She didn't read the card, and Derek didn't bring it up, and they traveled together down a forked road that should have led instead to this car, this wintry beach.

They're not perfect, she reminds herself as Derek's warm hand brushes her thigh.

They're pretty damned close, though, and it's that wistful thought that clings to her as the soothing rhythm of the car draws her, too, into sleep.

..

"Addie."

She wakes to the soft sound of her name, eyes still closed, and then feels a warm hand brushing back her hair. Slowly, she opens her eyes.

"We're almost there," he says quietly, and she could mouth the words along with him, because somehow she knows.

They're getting close.

She can tell, because it has the feeling of a long-forgotten dream. She glances automatically in the backseat at the two sleeping children, then at the profile of the man who was her husband, driving with the same look of concentration she still remembers.

From when this was real. She remembers it from when it was real.

Now the air is all lashings of salt, and even with the windows closed, the heat pumping, the scent of cold sand is everywhere.

 _The beach is so cold in winter here._

So cold, and so beautiful.

There's Christmas music playing, in the car – _habit_ , Derek said, smiling sheepishly, when he put it on even though both children were sleeping.

They're getting close, and then they'll be at the house she's never seen. That other Christmas that changed everything, arriving on a winter's beach as a family of three and leaving as the sparked beginning of a family of four.

She's half-hoping the house will be … magical, for lack of a better word. The last time she walked through the door of the other Addison's house, _magical_ would be an understatement.

Other Addison – it's just natural to think of her now, but her mother's voice echoes in her head:

 _Oh, Addison. There is no_ other _you, dear. There is only one you, and many choices._

Trusting Bizzy feels both necessary and dangerous at this point. No one seemed to know, or understand, why she was here. Who she was. It's something Bizzy did to her.

Not to her.

She's realizing this even as the pain of leaving this family behind stings like the salt water yards from the car: _for_ her.

Bizzy did it for her.

 _If I can send you back to Christmas six years ago … but you'd have to_ _go_ _. You'd have to take care of this. You can't worry about me._

It's very like Bizzy: _take care of this_ , like she used to say when delivering brisk orders, whether to the maids – about silver polishing, or dust on one antique or another or to Addison – about her unkempt hair, or her disappointing penmanship.

But even Bizzy, who projected regal confidence in all things Addison can remember, can't do everything, she reminds herself. Can't move time, can't –

 _But if she can't, how am I here?_

Addison lets the confusion fill her like air. Ellie is dozing on her hip now as they approach the front door of the sweet shingled house she wishes could be hers. Nick is somewhat awake now, resting his head on his father's shoulder.

"Are we here?" he murmurs, so quietly Addison almost misses it. Derek, who's jingling his key ring, doesn't seem to hear.

"We're here," Addison tells Nicky, brushing back some of his dark curls, which are in sweet disarray on his smooth forehead. He smiles at her and she feels it – in her heart, and below her heart, where this child could have grown if things had gone differently.

Derek has the door open now, and she holds her breath, not daring to hope –

But when they walk in, it's a house.

A warm and welcoming house, a house that smells of pine and salt and wintry beaches, but it's not the transformative experience of walking into the brownstone when all this began.

"Addie? Is something wrong?"

 _Everything is wrong. It's wrong because it's so right and it's not real._

She touches his cheek in response, with her free hand, memorizing its contours in case this is the last time. "Nothing is wrong," she assures him, and lets him lead through the house another version of her must have decorated – it feels strange at first but then fades into something like familiarity, like a polaroid waved slowly back and forth until it develops.

Lights catch her eye, little and white and bright. _The caretaker,_ Derek is murmuring, because the house feels warm and lived in, not cold and closed up.

It feels like Christmas.

 _You don't have much time. It's almost Christmas._

She strokes Ellie's soft hair and rocks a little as she stands at the foot of the staircase. The wood creaks with welcome and she memorizes the soft homey sound along with the silken strands under her fingers.

 _At least I met you_ , she reminds herself, blinking back tears before Derek can see them. _At least I'll have that._

She doesn't want to think about the alternative.

..

"I want to read," Nicky murmurs as Derek buttons his little flannel pajama top.

"It's late, Nickles." Derek brushes his dark hair away from his face.

"Just one book," he bargains, sounding more awake now, and Addison can't help smiling as she watches the little boy lead his father by the hand out of the bedroom. Addison has finished changing Ellie, who's still sleeping in her flannel Christmas pajamas.

She could take her to bed.

She doesn't, though, just holds the warm sleepy weight of her, letting the little girl's cheek rest against her shoulder, rubbing her back through soft flannel.

"Mommy." Nicky is smiling at her, holding a book aloft, as he returns to the room with Derek on his heels.

 _Bear Gets Home for Christmas._

She looks at Derek with surprise – she just saw the book in the brownstone before they left; it wasn't packed.

"He has a copy here too," Derek reminds her quietly, reading her expression, and she nods as if she knew it all along.

And if they'd choreographed it, Addison scoots back toward the headboard while Derek lifts Nick and his book onto the bed. Nicky burrows in next to her while Ellie, jogged slightly awake, reaches sleepily for her father.

Addison and Derek are propped up next to each other now, close enough to each hold half of the well-worn hardcover book as the familiar story starts to unfold.

"Bear said goodbye to his forest friends, one by one," Derek reads, "Raccoon, and Red Fox, and Bunny Rabbit, and White-Tailed Deer."

Nicky is mouthing the names of the animals along with his father.

"'Don't forget us, Bear,' said Bunny Rabbit. 'I could never forget you,' Bear told his forest friends. 'I'll be home for Christmas. And I will love you forever.'"

The page with its soft pastel drawings blurs under her gaze.

"Mommy … you're s'posed to say it too," Nicky reminds her gently, patting her arm with one small hand. "You and Daddy and me and not Ellie 'cause she's sleeping. You forgot."

His voice is neutral, sweet, but she feels a pang of guilt.

The next time, she says it with them:

 _I will love you forever._

The story doesn't end there.

The story is just beginning.

She watches as Bear shoulders his little red sled and heads off on his journey. Rain forest. Mountains.

"Bear liked the beach," Derek reads aloud, as Nicky turns the pages for him. "It was salty and nice to touch. And he liked his new friends, the fish."

Nicky's head is leaning against Addison's arm now.

"But Bear missed his forest friends," Derek continues. "And then Bear said, 'this isn't my home,' and he knew that he had to move on."

 _This isn't my home._

The words brush her skin, leaving her raw.

"He's gonna find it," Nicky whispers next to her, sounding as fascinated as if he's hearing the story for the first time. And sure enough, as Derek keeps reading over the soft sounds of Ellie's sleeping breaths, Bear does in fact find his sled.

"Bear saw his forest friends," Derek reads. "He saw the lights on the trees. Christmas was waiting for him. And then Bear knew it: he was home."

"The end," Nicky reads happily, one small finger tracing each word, and then he eases back against her with a satisfied sigh.

Now the story is over.

Nicky's long lashes settle on his rosy cheeks. Bear is home with his forest friends, and now he too can sleep. Derek catches her eye, smiling. Ellie is sleeping deeply, it seems, her thumb near her mouth, her head against her father's arm.

Addison closes her arm around the little boy cuddled into her side and studies the man who was her husband.

 _I would have loved you all my life._

Derek's hand is warm, threading through hers.

 _I just want to stay._

It forms an arc around both the children, and for a moment the connection among the four of them pulses with electricity, so strong she's certain it could singe.

 _I just want to keep this dream in me._

If Derek feels it too, he doesn't let on, just squeezes her hand with gentle reassurance as her eyes, too, slip closed.

..

She wakes before she opens her eyes.

Does that seem obvious? It isn't, not in their bed. Derek opened his eyes first; then he woke. It fascinated her at first. His eyes would open with a start, bright blue, and _then_ he would wake up. She teased him about it when she noticed it, in medical school; he teased her in return for trying to hold onto sleep for a few last seconds before lifting her lids.

A decade and a half with him and she's still not out of the habit of referring to him as the other half of any observation. _I'll have red, Derek prefers white. I'd rather drive automatic, Derek loves manual. I like fourteen towels in the OR before I start, Derek needs sixteen._

Derek.

She remembers him before she opens her eyes, before she realizes where she is.

Before _where she is_ makes her hold her breath.

Where is she?

She's in bed, she recognizes the cool slippery feel of the sheets. In bed, where she fell asleep last night with her husband and two sweet flannel-clad children, all four of them crowded into the bed together. Somehow, then, it was the perfect size.

Now, she's stretched out.

On either side of her, arms' width, her fingers brush … nothing.

So she's alone.

Of course she is.

She takes a moment just to breathe in the disappointment to the sound of the pounding waves outside.

Oceanside, because she thought the beach might comfort her. She thought it might change her life.

She's alone in her California bedroom, the one she pretended to care about decorating to stanch the flow of loneliness. She doesn't open her eyes yet, but she knows that when she does, she'll see light colors and fabrics, the kind that wouldn't stand up to a small child.

Why would they need to? She has no children.

She's on the opposite coast, in her opposite life.

Alone.

 _If I can send you back to Christmas six years ago…_

She has a brief flash of feeling for her mother as she recollects the offer she made. She has the sensation that she tried, that Bizzy _tried_ , and there's a faint, fleeting warmth inside her at the thought.

Her eyes are still closed, but she knows it's not six years ago. Six years ago, she woke up in the brownstone she shared with Derek. There are no ocean sounds there. There was someone beside her, a heated arm flung over her midsection. She would get chilly, while she slept, and he would come find her across the expanse of the bed.

Tentatively, in the darkness behind her lids that she recognizes as the blackout shades she's been buying since residency, she stretches out her fingers, her toes.

Nothing.

She waits.

She tastes the word _alone._

Of course. This was all a dream.

She doesn't open her eyes, not yet.

It felt so real, so long. Can a dream be like that? Can a dream worry about her, wonder about her, stay by her side even when she can't remember their life together? Can a dream look like her and like Derek at the same time, gaze up at her with innocent eyes, hold onto her with tiny fingers, seek her comfort in the night?

 _It felt real because it could have been real._

The thought dances through her mind unbidden and she allows it – resigned to the brief slumbering glimpse of what she could have had.

Her fingers move slowly on the sheets, holding nothing.

What she would like is to hold onto the dream, to remember it as long as she can. To feel its almost-realness, so different from her solitary life on the west coast.

What she could have had: the warmth and safety of the brownstone, filled with love and laughter.

Children's voices.

Derek's arms around her.

 _Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, it will keep feeling real._

"Merry Christmas, Mommy!"

The door bursts open and her eyes fly open at the same time – the darkness is gone and the room is flooded with light. Nicky pounds across the floor in his red and white Christmas pajamas, holding a filled stocking. Derek is at his heels, grinning, Ellie in his arms.

"Merry Christmas, Mommy!" Ellie repeats her brother's words, then wriggles down from her father's grasp and crawls across the bed, a warm flannel bundle snuggling into Addison's waiting arms.

"Merry Christmas, Addie," Derek says, his smile so familiar that he can't not be real.

He touches her cheek, looking concerned, when she doesn't respond.

"I didn't see you," she murmurs by way of explanation.

"We were getting our stockings," Nicky says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Ellie is cuddled into her side now, one small hand playing with the satin cuff of Addison's pajama top.

"Downstairs," Ellie clarifies, smiling up at her.

Addison nods, still trying to make sense of their appearance.

 _You're still here. Of course. This is your life, why wouldn't you be here?_

The remaining question: _why am I still here?_

Derek is still gazing at her.

It's Christmas. Her deadline. Isn't that what Bizzy said from the beginning? _You're running out of time, Addison. Christmas is almost here._

And if Christmas is here, and _she's_ here … no, that can't be right. Bizzy said she needed to go back to Christmas six years ago, to fix things. So how can she be here, now?

"You, uh, you weren't here," she says to Derek, knowing she must sound strange.

"But you knew we were coming right back," he responds.

"I knew," she says quietly, not realizing until she hears the words how true it is. "I know you."

Derek's eyes are very soft.

 _If I didn't go back, how can I be here?_

Could she have _already_ gone back? A half-dozen time travel theories, from stories of her youth, slide through her mind. And then she stops trying to calculate, because Nicky is clambering onto the bed too, hefting his overflowing stocking, and math doesn't matter.

He's beaming at her. "Mommy, you remembered!" he says, as if it's simple.

"I remembered," she breathes. "I … _remember_ ," and he's right.

It's true.

God, it's true: memories are flooding her, filling her up.

There's nothing she can't remember, every moment and memory, every sound and scent, it's like blowing up hundreds of balloons and letting them float away in a bright sky as memory after memory drifts back to her consciousness.

 _I remember everything._

She folds both children into her arms, the babies she birthed after all, and then reaches up and pulls the husband she never lost down for a kiss.

When his lips touch hers she feels something new, something unexpected, as if a hand is drawing back a dark curtain toward a sunny morning.

No, it's the old memories receding to the back of her mind. Not lost forever, but smaller and darker like old dreams she half-remembers. Fear and loneliness, pain and regret, rain-soaked steps and rough black lace on her fingertips, cold hands and cold eyes: slowly, they drift away like seaweed until they're so small they're nothing compared to the colorful balloons of memory.

Her heart swells and when she pulls back she cups her husband's face, memorizing it again, like always.

He smiles at her. "What was that for?"

"You still take my breath away," she whispers, and sees his eyes sparkle with recognition in return.

 _I remember._

With a little sound like the tinkling of wind chimes – or jingle bells, maybe, or the sweet laughter of two small children – everything is right.

Christmas waited for her. Six long years.

And now she knows it:

 _She's home._

* * *

 ** _The End_**

* * *

 _ **Thank you so much for reading! I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I planned for this ending and I've been excited to share it with you. It's the one I wanted. Is it the one you wanted too? I hope you'll write and tell me. To all those of you who recognized the significance of the necklace and Bizzy's last heartbreaking communication with Addison in PP: sing it, sisters. That was a brutal part of the show and I loved the idea that Bizzy could somehow realize her effect on Addison's life, and give some last efforts to help her. And I loved the idea of Addison's recognizing that, especially now that she is/was/is again a mother herself.**_

 _ **And I promise more Addek is coming - The Climbing Way and Some Bright Morning are both in the works, winding to an end, and others are still gearing up.**_

 _ **Last author's note, last sentence: thank you, one last time, for coming on this journey with me!**_


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